<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Stelliferous by CosmicOcelot</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998478">Stelliferous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot'>CosmicOcelot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Cultural Differences, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Joint mission, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode s04e15 Affliction, Sexual Harrassment, Well - Freeform, discussions of consent, discussions of polyamory, no beta we die like daniels, post Ushaan and Aenar, post mid season 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:15:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Archer thought his mouth felt dry before, now it’s as though his entire throat has been coated with chalk. “You wouldn’t mind them thinking the two of us were together?” </p><p>“Would you?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Archer/Thy'lek Shran, Phlox/Malcolm Reed, T'Pol/Charles "Trip" Tucker III, if you squint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>212</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've got a few other stories on the go, but honestly, school's been kicking my butt and this is one of the few things I've actually written. Plus, Archer and his angry blue space husband deserve more love tbh.<br/>Mind the tags as you go, hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A joint mission?”</p><p>“Yes,” Admiral Gardner grins, and Archer is sure the man would be bouncing on the balls of his feet if not for the fact that he’s currently seated at Forrest’s old desk, “the first, hopefully of many, between Earth and Andoria – to be headed by their flagship and ours.”</p><p>“Huh.” Archer rubs his thumb against his coffee mug thoughtfully. “What’s the mission?”</p><p>“A few months ago, the <em>Columbia</em> made contact with a people known as Luevenons, an amphibious humanoid race living on a planet nearby Andorian space,” Admiral Gardner hits a few buttons on his desk and several files pop up on Archer’s computer, “they recently reached out to both us and the Andorians with the intent of striking a trade deal.”</p><p>Archer skims through the files, humming thoughtfully. “I’m assuming we’re more interested in their dilithium than their spices?”</p><p>“Correct, and so are the Andorians.” Admiral Gardner waves a hand errantly. “Given our past history of mutually beneficial alliances, Starfleet and the Imperial Guard thought we might get more favourable results if we presented a united front.”</p><p>Archer nods. “That way, the Luevenons can’t play us against each other.” He turns back to his viewscreen, offering Admiral Gardner a polite smile. “So, when do we get to meet our debate team?”</p><p>“You’re to proceed to Leuven, where you’ll rendezvous with the <em>Zletha </em>tomorrow at 0900.” Admiral Gardner clasps his hands together, leaning forward with his elbows on Forrest’s desk as he continues talking; the whole thing uncomfortably reminiscent of the one and only time Archer had found himself in the principal’s office. “I don’t need to tell you how important this is for us, Jonathan.”</p><p>Archer breathes out through his nose slowly, forcing his smile to remain on his face. “We’ll be sure to make you proud, Admiral.”</p><p>“See that you do, Captain.” Admiral Gardner ends the transmission just before the door chime to Archer’s cabin goes off.</p><p>“Come in.”</p><p>T’Pol steps through, arching one of her eyebrows slightly when she sees Archer rubbing his forehead tiredly. “I take it the Admiral didn’t approve your request for shore leave?”</p><p>“No; no, he shot that down pretty quick.”  Archer shakes his head slightly, offering T’Pol an exhausted, but definitely more genuine, smile.</p><p>T’Pol nods. “I see. Did he also neglect to end your transmission with a goodbye again?”</p><p>Archer huffs out a laugh. “I’ll say one thing for Admiral Gardner, he’s consistent. Especially when it comes to the amount of work that he’s willing to push on us.”</p><p>“We have another assignment?” Archer is sure he doesn’t imagine the way T’Pol seems to tense – even if only fractionally.</p><p>“A joint mission.” Archer makes his way over to his replicator, punching in another black coffee – sure to be his first of many tonight. “Trade negotiations for dilithium, with the Andorians as our partners. We’re to travel to Leuven for 0900 tomorrow to rendezvous with the <em>Zleta</em>.”</p><p>T’Pol doesn't say anything, but Archer can practically feel the disappointment concealed beneath that carefully neutral face.</p><p>“Would you like permission to speak freely?” Archer asks her teasingly, a smirk curling his lips.</p><p>T’Pol’s own lips purse slightly. “Captain, the crew has performed admirably for the past nine months, but as of 3 months ago Enterprise’s proficiency rate has dropped by approximately 15.54% - a significant decrease. One that could become exacerbated during a high stakes mission.”</p><p>“I don’t like it either,” Archer takes a sip of his coffee, just barely shy of too hot, “but the crew’s just going to have to hold off on their vacation plans until we get this mission over with.”</p><p>T’Pol doesn’t respond for a moment, but eventually she gives a slight nod. “I will inform the crew of our mission and put together a team to participate in the trade negotiations.”</p><p>“Make sure Hoshi’s on it.” Archer walks back to his desk, taking a seat again. “<em>Columbia </em>reported that the Luevenon language has at least seven different dialects – we don’t want them taking advantage of that to try and pull a fast one on us.”</p><p>“Understood, I will send the list to you for your approval later.” T’Pol turns and makes to exit the cabin, pausing in the doorway before looking at Archer once again. “Try and get some sleep before our rendezvous with the <em>Zleta.</em> It will hardly help diplomatic relations if our Captain falls asleep during negotiations.”</p><p>Archer rolls his eyes, waving her off. “Since when did you become my mother?”</p><p>“Since you forgot all the lessons that she presumably taught you about self-care. Goodnight, Captain.” T’Pol steps out of his quarters without a second glance.</p><p>Archer huffs out something in-between a sigh and a laugh, before turning back to his computer and starting to re-read through the <em>Columbia</em>’s reports on the Luevenons.</p><p>He’s about three hours in when he finally manages to get to what Starfleet knows about the <em>Zleta, </em>and when he reads the name of the commanding officer, he’s half convinced that he’s already asleep – or that his sleep deprived brain has somehow rearranged the letters into the name he desperately wants it to be.</p><p>But several blinks and a few slight slaps to his cheeks later, the name is still the same.</p><p>
  <em>Thy’lek Shran.</em>
</p><p>And suddenly, he’s a hell of a lot more nervous about this mission.</p><hr/><p>“You alright, Cap’n?”</p><p>Archer blinks, turning from where he’s spent the past few minutes having a staring contest with the docking port door to grace Trip with a smile. “Just thinking about how much I’m going to enjoy laying on a beach after this is all over.”</p><p>Trip chuckles softly. “Don’t have to tell me twice – when this is all said and done, I’ll be lying on the next towel over.”</p><p>Archer looks to T’Pol. “You up for joining us?”</p><p>“I will be spending the time continuing my reading of the Kir’shara.” T’Pol levels the both of them with a look. “And, undoubtedly, ensuring that the two of you conduct your beach-laying underneath the protection of an umbrella – and SPF 250 sunscreen.”</p><p>“C’mon, T’Pol,” Trip groans, crossing over to stand next to her and fixing her with some pretty good puppy dog eyes, “you know, most people find tans sexy.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” T’Pol doesn’t hesitate, “but most also agree melanomas are not.”</p><p>Reed snorts, covering it up by acting as though it were a sneeze, and Archer’s lips twitch slightly.</p><p>The sound of the outer docking door opening barely gives them enough time to school themselves into a more professional stance; the inner door sliding open a moment later to reveal several pairs of those familiar antennae. And a smirk that’s been in more dreams than Archer can count.</p><p>“Captain Archer,” Shran steps through, walking with that same easy confidence, both antennae fully operational once more and curling slightly towards Archer, “always a pleasure.”</p><p>“Captain Shran,” Archer inclines his head slightly, “glad to be part of our people’s first<em> official</em> joint mission.”</p><p>“Indeed. Though we’ve certainly had plenty of <em>unofficial</em> ones, haven’t we?” Shran’s eyes glitter with humour. “Come, why not let our subordinates handle the details while you and I discuss more important matters?”</p><p>“Sound good.” Archer gestures down the hallway. “After you.”</p><p>“Ever the gentlemen, aren’t you, Captain?” Shran drawls, but he moves forward and down the hall, giving Archer barely enough time to exchange a quick nod with T’Pol before he has to follow after him.</p><p>“Interesting that our respective governments chose the two of us,” Shran comments, glancing around the corridors as they walk. “It’s almost as though they’re afraid other humans and andorians won’t work together.”</p><p>“Or, perhaps it’s because the two of us have been so successful together in the past,” Archer points out, giving Shran a teasing smile. “Although, can’t say I wouldn’t have been interested to see if all andorians share your leadership abilities.”</p><p>Shran scoffs. “Hardly. If they did, the Imperial Guard wouldn’t have allowed me to return after you cut off my antenna.”</p><p>Archer doesn't bother to rise to the jab, knows it’s meant as nothing more than a playful remark; but the scar on his thigh from the Ushaan-tor burns all the same, and the heavy weight he manages to keep out of his voice in his next words settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. “Then I guess it’s lucky for both of us that you’re one of a kind.”</p><p>The two of them reach the conference room a few moments later, Archer gesturing for Shran to step through into the room before him. And the door is barely closing behind Archer before Shran breaks the silence between them with a sentence that instantly sets off a warning klaxon in Archer’s mind. “You’re going to want to lock that – no sense wasting time worrying about interruptions.”</p><p>Archers raises an eyebrow at him, but punches in the locking codes anyway, turning and making his way over to Shran. “Judging by your paranoia, I’m assuming there’s a little bit more at stake here than securing another source of dilithium.”</p><p>“Always so observant, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, and Shran doesn’t look away from Leuven spinning imperceptibly slowly below them to try and find an answer. “My government suspects that this... <em>negotiation</em> is another ploy by the romulans to try and destabilize the region – to undermine our alliance by getting us to turn on one another.”</p><p> “You believe it?” Archer asks, trying desperately for a sense of urgency, for caution, anything other than complete and utter exhaustion. The mere thought that this mission might involve more than polite smiles and careful words is enough to nearly send him to his knees.</p><p>“No,” Shran shakes his head, and Archer feels a relief sweep through him, its force nearly taking out his knees anyway, “the “intelligence” is barely deserving of its name – and ever since our run in with the drone ship, the Imperial Guard have been constantly jumping at their own shadows. Still,” Shran shrugs, “I thought it was worth mentioning. Might be worth the effort to take some extra security with us; just in case.”</p><p>“That might make them nervous – or give the impression we don’t trust them.” Archer moves back towards the table, planning on pushing past it to the replicator for some more coffee, something to steady himself once more. “Not exactly the best way to kickstart successful diplomatic discussions – ”</p><p>For a split second, the world fades out completely, and when it returns Archer is already falling.</p><p>“Archer!”</p><p>Hands catch him, keeping him from slamming his head against the corner of the conference table, and it takes everything Archer has left not to let his entire body go boneless in them. In the end, it doesn’t matter because those hands maneuver him as though he <em>were</em> boneless – as though he weighed nothing more than a handful of sand – placing him in the nearest chair.</p><p>“This is Shran – we need emergency medical assistance in the conference room immediately!” The words are snarled ferociously, the volume and voracity of them so intense that they rattle around in Archer’s head for a few minutes afterwards – drowning out whatever the response is. It seems to satisfy Shran, however, because he takes a seat next to Archer – moving his chair closer so that there’s barely any space between them.</p><p>“Archer,” Shran rests the back of his hand against Archer’s forehead.</p><p>Archer waves him off, finally coming back to himself. “I’m fine – ”</p><p>“You are not <em>fine</em>,” Shran snaps, “you look like an Aenar.”  </p><p>“Really?” Archer smiles. “How are my antennae?”</p><p>For some reason, however, Shran doesn’t seem to find any of this amusing. “I meant that your skin is closer to white than pink.”</p><p>“I’m<em> fine,</em>” Archer insists. “I just... tripped is all.”</p><p>“Tripped?” Shran repeats. “Over <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Air.” Archer closes his eyes briefly, enjoying the coolness of Shran’s hand against his forehead. “Humans have been known to do that sometimes.”</p><p>Before Shran can respond to that, the doors to the conference room are sliding open, Phlox rushing in with his medical bag at his side – slowing slightly when he doesn’t see rivers of blood spouting from Archer. Shran takes his hand back as Phlox arrives next to them – and Archer misses it instantly. </p><p>“Doctor,” Archer greets.<br/><br/>“Captain,” Phlox returns, already running his instruments over him, “what, ehh, seems to be the trouble?”</p><p>“He collapsed,” Shran speaks before Archer can get a word out, “and yet, the fool is insisting he’s fine.”</p><p>“Because I am.” Archer glares at Shran.</p><p>“I suppose it depends on your definition of “fine”,” Phlox hums, putting away his instruments. “Mine places you in the decidedly <em>“not-fine”</em> category.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with him?” Shran demands, and Archer would chew him out for speaking to his doctor like that if he had any energy left to spare.</p><p>“The same thing that’s wrong with the rest of the crew, I imagine,” Phlox rummages around in his bag, seemingly unconcerned by Shran’s tone, “fatigue, over-work, exhaustion – ”</p><p>“We’ll get our vacation as soon as this is done, doctor,” Archer interrupts, aware that even he barely sounds like he believes it as this point.</p><p>Phlox’s lips purse slightly, just like T’Pol’s had last night. “We should have had it <em>three months ago</em>.”</p><p>“Then maybe the next time I call the admiral you and T’Pol should be there," Archer teases, wincing slightly as Phlox presses a hypospray into the side of his neck.</p><p>“I assure you, Captain, I would <em>relish</em> the opportunity.” Phlox puts the hypospray back, zipping up his bag and standing up, “That should see you through the next couple hours, and after that – <em>rest</em>. I mean it, Captain. I <em>will</em> place you on forced leave if I have to.”</p><p>Archer nods, willing whatever Phlox gave him to work faster. “Understood, doctor.”</p><p>Phlox nods, pausing to give a nod to Shran as well, before exiting the room.</p><p>Shran raises an eyebrow at Archer as the door closes behind Phlox, and Archer shrugs. “Hard to compete in this universe with only two ships.”</p><p>“So, they work their best captain into an early grave to compensate?” Shran scoffs, clearly disgusted. “Clearly the intelligence of your superiors needs re-evaluating.”</p><p>“Won’t argue with you there,” Archer offers a slight smile, “but why don’t we put all that aside for now and focus on the negotiations? Though, I have to say I’m flattered you think I’m Starfleet’s best Captain.”</p><p>“It’s not exactly a long list.”</p><p>Archer chuckles. “Still, I appreciate it.”</p><p>Shran looks at him, an odd expression on his face.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Archer asks. “Don’t tell me my antennae finally grew in.”</p><p>“Hardly.” Shran keeps his gaze, blue eyes burning with a cold fire that heats something in Archer’s chest. “I simply find myself... relieved that I was the one chosen for this mission. That no other was given the opportunity to see you at your moment of weakness.”</p><p>Archer’s mouth feels dry and he forces himself to swallow. “Another reason we’re lucky, I guess. Another commander might not have had your reflexes.”</p><p>Shran chuckles softly. “True.” He watches Archer for a moment more, that same odd, unreadable expression on his face. “The Luevenons have a custom – powerful couples in their culture walk arm in arm. If you were to take my arm as we arrived at the negotiations, I could support you in case you <em>"tripped"</em> again. And it would strengthen our negotiating position – perhaps discourage them from attempting any backroom deals with members from either of our delegations.”</p><p>If Archer thought his mouth felt dry before, <em>now</em> it’s as though his entire throat has been coated with chalk. “You wouldn’t mind them thinking the two of us were together?”</p><p>“Would you?”</p><p>They regard each other for a moment, and Archer can’t escape the feeling that the two of them are somehow engaged in a high stakes battle of some sort.</p><p>Whatever the nature of their staring contest, he eventually ends it by standing, Shran leaping to his feet as well – as though he thinks Archer is liable to collapse again at any moment.</p><p>“Well,” Archer keeps one hand on the table, just in case, “I suppose we’d better practice.”</p><p>Shran nods. “Agreed.”  </p><p>He offers Archer his arm, and Archer takes it, slotting himself against Shran’s side; allowing Shran to direct and move them – taking steady steps with him as they walk back and forth across the room.</p><p>“Assuming the Luevenons know a bit about Andorian culture as well,” Archer says softly, trying his best to ignore the ever-present thrum of – <em>something</em> – humming beneath his skin as they walk, “is there anything I should know about Andorian courting rituals? Should I be stroking your antennae every so often?”</p><p>Shran trips over air, nearly sending them both careening to the ground – but he catches himself at the last minute – steadying the both of them.</p><p>“I take it that’s a no,” Archer remarks.</p><p>“Not unless you want to be thrown out for public indecency,” Shran snaps, his face going a few shades darker.</p><p>Archer feels his own face heat, nodding quickly. “Alright then.”</p><p>He spends the next little while focusing on the wall in front of them as they cross and then re-cross the room.</p><p>“You’ll want to avoid touching others.”</p><p>Archer glances back at Shran, but the Andorian still refuses to meet his eyes. “Humans are always brushing parts of their skin against one another. It’s different on Andoria. Only couples touch each other so casually. And since the Luevenons will be more familiar with Andorian culture than Human culture...” Shran trails off, still refusing to make eye contact.</p><p>“Understood,” Archer nods, turning his gaze ahead of them again.</p><p>“You’ll also want to avoid... <em>flirting</em> with any members of the delegations.”</p><p>Archer’s lips twitch slightly. “Does that include you?”</p><p>Shran sends him a scathing look, and Archer holds his free hand up placatingly. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on doing any flirting down there anyway.”</p><p>“Good.” Shran looks far more satisfied than he really has any right to be at that, and he finally draws to a stop in the middle of the room. “I think that should suffice.”</p><p>“We seem to have gotten the hang of it.” Archer agrees.</p><p>“We should rejoin our delegation – they’re likely ready to depart by now.”</p><p>“Sounds good.”</p><p>Neither one of them moves to unlink their arms.</p><p>“We could... figure out how we would move from standing to sitting down?” Archer suggests eventually.</p><p>Shran nods, perhaps a bit too quickly, but then Archer is choosing not to look too closely at anything right now. “Yes. Yes that’s a good idea.”</p><p>They run through it a few times, Shran guiding the two of them from the door to the conference table – smoothly unlinking their arms to pull out a chair for Archer when they arrive. Shran holding his hand to steady Archer until he’s comfortably seated, gracefully sliding into the seat next to him.</p><p>And when they finally leave the conference room, Archer half expects Shran to take his arm as they walk down the hall – if only for the sake of more practice. He doesn’t, however, and the whole way down to the shuttle pod bay Archer’s hand tingles with a phantom cold – fighting the desire to take Shran’s hand in his.</p><hr/><p>“I must say, Captain,” the leader of the Luevenon’s delegation, Thurek, smiles, their face tentacles wiggling vigorously, “you certainly are deserving of your reputation.”</p><p>Archer smiles back, arching an eyebrow slightly. “I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”</p><p>It’s the first break of their negotiations, and so far, it looks like they might get out of this with the dilithium they want <em>and</em> time to spare. The Luevenons had been a mix of dismayed and awed when he and Shran walked into the room arm in arm. And that, coupled with the fact that Archer's knees didn’t try and give way beneath him, seems to have given them an advantage that the Luevenons have spent the past two hours struggling and failing to reclaim.</p><p>His team had taken their plan to act a couple with very little comment, save for the corner of Hoshi’s lips curling upward slightly. And he finds himself glad Trip wasn’t chosen for the assignment, because the commander undoubtedly would’ve had several very strong opinions on the matter.</p><p>Currently, Shran is standing a few feet away, talking with some other high-level members of the delegation – likely the same ones Archer had been exchanging pleasantries with a few moments ago before their leader chased them away. He can feel Shran’s eyes on him every so often – his constant checking to see if Archer may collapse at any moment hidden behind the illusion of a love-struck man that can’t keep his eyes off his partner.</p><p>Archer catches his gaze this time, out of the corner of his eye, and sends a slight smile his way.</p><p>Shran looks away abruptly, as though he’s embarrassed to have gotten caught, turning back to his conversation.</p><p>“Oh, it is. <em>Very</em>,” Thurek assures him, taking a step forward so that they're <em>just</em> too close to Archer to be considered strictly professional, “they say you’ve saved countless worlds from destruction – including your own.”</p><p>“<em>They </em>exaggerate.” Archer shakes his head. “I just did what I had to do – nothing more or less.”</p><p>“Capable <em>and</em> modest.” Thurek’s tentacles wiggle again. “Not every species can hold their own with andorians.”</p><p>Archer forces himself not to react, working to keep his heart rate steady and his smile on his face. “No? I assure you, it’s far less daunting than it first appears.”</p><p>“Again, your modesty, Captain.” Thurek tuts, still not moving back from their encroachment into Archer’s space, “andorian aggression is well known. It takes a very -” Thurek trails off, their eyes moving up and down Archer’s body “- <em>hardy</em> individual to be able to withstand it.”</p><p>Archer’s smile is nothing more than his lips pressed tightly together at this point. “I appreciate the compliment, Ambassador, but I don't believe my relationship with Captain Shran has any bearing on our current trade negotiations – ”</p><p>“I wonder,” Thurek continues, as though Archer hadn’t spoken, placing their hand on Archer’s shoulder, “if you might be convinced to show me some of that... <em>hardiness</em>.”</p><p>Archer takes a deep breath in through his nose, fighting the urge to shake off that hand.</p><p>“Ambassador – ”</p><p>“Can we help you with something?”</p><p>The hand on his shoulder drops like it’s been scalded, terrified multi-chromed eyes turning to meet the glacial blue ones that have just materialized next to Archer.</p><p>“Captain Shran,” Thurek holds up their hands, already backing up several steps, “Captain Archer and I were just talking – ”</p><p>“I saw what you were doing,” Shran snaps, taking a step forward so that he’s standing in between Archer and Thurek, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go <em>talk</em> somewhere out of my sight. And perhaps, if you’re <em>extremely</em> lucky, by the time the negotiations begin again, I’ll have forgotten all about this.”</p><p>“Shran,” Archer says quietly.</p><p>But Thurek is already nodding, babbling out apologies as they retreat, tentacles squirming so much they look like they’re about to break free from their face “Yes, of course, gentlemen, I’ll see you back at the negotiating table.”</p><p>They practically flee from the break room, attracting the attention of everyone who wasn’t already watching the scene take place. Archer catches T’Pol’s eyes, silently rejecting the offer of assistance he can see within them; while trying to ignore the way all the other eyes are boring into him.</p><p>“Little overboard, don’t you think?”</p><p>Shran turns to face him, jaw clenched tight. “On the contrary, were we not currently negotiating a deal with their people, I would have broken that hand.”</p><p>“<em>That</em> would have been extremely overboard,” Archer murmurs, crossing the distance between them and subtly gesturing to a verandah adjacent to the break room – and out of everyone else’s eyesight, “as in, can’t-reach-you-with-a-life-preserver overboard.”</p><p>Shran doesn’t reply, just offers his arm to Archer, who takes it, and guides them from the room and out onto the verandah.</p><p>Archer waits until the door has closed behind them to take his arm from Shran, leaning against the verandah rail instead; the cool sun sparkling across the water that surrounds them. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”</p><p>“They were attempting to challenge our relationship,” Shran wraps his hands around the rail next to Archer, “If I wanted to keep up our little... <em>façade</em>, I had to respond in kind.”</p><p>“By threatening them in front of everybody?” Archer shakes his head. “I had it handled.”</p><p>“Oh really?” Shran’s tone is biting. “Seemed to me you were the one being <em>handled</em>.”</p><p>Archer rolls his eyes, irritated at being treated like he’s somehow responsible for what just happened. “They touched my shoulder, Shran – it’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“It <em>is</em>.” Shran hisses, grip on the rail white knuckled, “I heard what they said to you – what they asked of you – the disgusting, miserable – ” Shran cuts himself off, nostrils flaring.</p><p>Archer looks at him, taking in the sharp, tense lines of his body, a wave of violence barely being held back within him. “You don’t think that maybe, just maybe, the only reason Thurek said what they did back was because we put them on the defensive in the negotiations? That they were seeing if they could regain the upper hand by getting under your skin?”</p><p>“So, they put those hands all over yours?” The metal of the rail is beginning to warp beneath Shran’s hands.</p><p>Archer places his hand over one of Shran’s, squeezing gently. “You need to calm down. Talk to me, tell me what I can do to help; because right now, you’re giving them exactly what they want.”</p><p> Shran meets his eyes, holding them for a moment, before taking in a deep breath, relaxing his grip on the rail as he exhales.</p><p>“Apologies,” Shran lets out another deep breath, “apparently my biology hasn’t caught on to the fact that this all a fictitious scenario. It’s reacting to Thurek’s challenge as though we were actually mates.”</p><p>“What do you need me to do?” Archer asks, his thumb beginning to stroke Shran’s hand without him really meaning to.</p><p>Shran huffs out a laugh. “Other than let me mate you right here and now?”</p><p>Archer’s heart skips a beat, but he covers it with a slight chuckle. “Seems a bit impractical,” he arches an eyebrow teasingly, “unless you want everyone in the meeting room to hear us – and get an eyeful.”</p><p>Though he’d be lying if he said that the thought of allowing Shran to maneuver him against the side of the building, hooking his legs around the Andorian’s waist and letting him hold him up with one hand and prevent any sounds from escaping his mouth with the other, doesn’t make a certain kind of heat flare to life in his abdomen.</p><p>Shran’s eyes have darkened, pupils growing in size despite the fact that the sunlight reflecting off that water is just as strong as it was before. “Quite... I don’t think my biology would appreciate having an... audience.”</p><p>“Want to keep me all to yourself, huh?” Archer says, but it comes out softer than he planned it to, a low murmur instead of a good-natured jab.</p><p>Shran reaches out, drawing his hand over where Thurek had placed theirs and then cupping the side of Archer’s face.<br/><br/>“Yes.”</p><p>The coolness of Shran’s skin bleeds into him, and Archer closes his eyes to savour it.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Archer moves his hand to Shran’s face, thumb gently stroking his cheek, “I’m all yours.”</p><p>And then Archer leans down and brings their lips together.</p><p>For a split second, Shran doesn’t react, and Archer has a moment to panic that andorians don’t kiss with their lips, and that this gesture has a whole different meaning in their culture, before Shran is kissing him back – nearly knocking him over with the ferocity of it. He slips his tongue inside the andorian’s mouth, stifling a moan at how good it feels, and Shran returns the favour, tightening his grip on Archer at the same time so that their bodies are pressed tightly together – the temperature difference drawing a slight shiver out of Archer.</p><p>Eventually, Shran breaks the kiss and, as Archer pants for air, mouths down the side of his neck, sucking at a spot that feels just a little too high to be covered by the collar of Archer’s uniform. Archer covers his mouth to muffle the, frankly embarrassing, sound he makes at the sensation, only to have it knocked away and replaced with Shran’s lips again a moment later – just as Shran’s communicator beeps.</p><p>“Shran,” Archer breaks the kiss this time, just as breathless as before, nodding at the communicator.</p><p>Shran lets out a low growl, moving to answer his communicator but keeping a hold on Archer with his other hand. “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>
  <em>“Captain, the negotiations are about to resume.” </em>
</p><p>Shran takes in a deep breath, posture relaxing slightly, though his grip on Archer remains the same. “Understood, we’ll rejoin you at the negotiating table in a few moments.”</p><p>He flips the communicator closed, placing it back in his belt, finally letting go of Archer; though he doesn’t attempt to increase the distance between them.</p><p>Archer lets out a deep breath, willing his body to cool down, and running his fingertips over his neck to feel out where Shran undoubtedly left a mark; only to find the slightly sore spot right where he thought he would – at a place <em>just</em> above where it can be hidden by his collar.</p><p>“Little unprofessional, don’t you think?” Archer raises an eyebrow at him, the dryness of his voice undercut slightly by the lingering breathlessness.</p><p>Shran’s eyes find the mark, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Perhaps. But it will help me look that cretin in the eye without wanting to break them.”</p><p>“Drama queen,” Archer rolls his eyes, offering his arm to Shran.</p><p>The insult doesn’t seem to dampen Shran’s smug mood, and he takes Archer’s arm and guides them both back through the break room and into the negotiating room. The andorians don’t bat an eye at their reappearance, but Archer can feel every human, vulcan and luevenon eye locked on the bruise on his neck.</p><p>They retake their seats, Archer glancing at his PADD before raising his eyes to meet the open-mouthed gaze of Thurek. “I believe we were discussing the possibility of sharing technology?”</p><p>Hoshi’s lips are twitching like she’s struggling not to laugh, and there even seems to be a glimmer of humour in T’Pol’s eyes; Shran, however, is clearly enjoying all of this the most, from the smug smirk on his lips to the red dot of light in the centre of his forehead - </p><p>It feels like the world stops, Archer’s eyes caught on that little red pinprick, heart still in his chest, dread wrapping its tendrils around every single part of him.</p><p>“Get down!”</p><p>And then he’s leaping forward, knocking Shran off the ground to the floor, and as a loud crack echoes through the room he feels something molten hot burrow into his upper back – taking the breath out of him before the landing on the floor can.</p><p>In an instant, the room is overwhelmed with noise – the fire of phase pistols intermingling with the loud cracks of whatever the other side is using – as well as the screams – and Archer can’t breathe for the pain lancing through him; can feel something hot and wet running down his back as he rolls off Shran and onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to regain some sense of control.</p><p>“Archer!” Shran’s face blocks out the ceiling, his hands brushing over Archer’s face and upper back, his blue hand coming away coated in red.</p><p>Archer grits his teeth, trying to get the words out without releasing a scream of pain as well. “I’m fine – just go.”</p><p>Shran’s jaw clenches, but nods, shifting Archer under the table so he’s out of sight, before grabbing his disruptor and throwing himself into the fray.</p><p>It feels like the fight goes on for hours – but then again, maybe it’s only seconds – Archer trying to breathe through the pain until it becomes manageable; but just as he manages to finally get a hold on it, the noise and cacophony suddenly draws to a stop.  </p><p>“Captain,” He turns his head to the side to see T’Pol on her hands and knees next to him, extending her hands to try and help him out from under the table. “Are you injured?”</p><p>“I’m fine, just, my back got... hit,” Archer groans, waving off her attempts to help. He manages to crawl out from beneath the table on his own, only to slump next to her. “Careful, I think they have a sniper – ”</p><p>“Had.” T’Pol helps him sit up, pressing her hand firmly against his wound and drawing a sharp wince out of him. “I believe Captain Shran just snapped their neck.”</p><p>Archer blinks, eyes seeking out Shran, only to find him standing above the crumpled form of a Luevenon, their neck twisted at an unnatural angle. He feels a kind of guilty relief tumble through him at the sight, even while his gut clenches at the visceral violence of it.</p><p>“Report?”</p><p>“Three from our delegation wounded, two from the andorian; none critically – aside from yourself.” T’Pol reaches into her belt for her communicator. “I’m going to contact Enterprise now for an emergency beam up – ”</p><p>“Belay that,” Archer shakes his head, “I want to know what the hell just happened.”</p><p>“Isn’t it obvious?” Shran responds as though he’s standing next to Archer, not halfway across the room, stalking forward toward where Thurek is cowering near the opposite wall – actually, it almost looks like they’re trying to merge with said wall through osmosis. “Our <em>gracious</em> hosts laid a trap for us. For all their talk of <em>peace</em>,” Shran spits the word like it’s something that crawled into his mouth and died, “they were planning on slaughtering us the moment they lost the upper hand.”</p><p>“Shran,” Archer says, a soft warning.</p><p>“No!” Thurek shakes their head, tentacles moving furiously, “No, no I assure you, Captain, we never meant for any harm to come to you or your – ”</p><p>They choke on the rest of their sentence as Shran wraps his hands around their throat.</p><p>“Shran!” Archer shouts, moving to stand only for T’Pol to hold him back.</p><p>Shran slams Thurek against the wall, pinning them in place as their hands scrabble desperately to free their throat. “I hope you’ve got your affairs in order, because when I’m finished with you, even your own mother won’t be able to recognize your face.”</p><p>He tightens his grip on Thurek’s neck, drawing his hand back as if to strike them –</p><p>“<em>Thy’lek!</em>”</p><p>Shran stills, and it feels as though the whole room is holding its breath.</p><p>Archer swallows, his throat raw from the name torn out of it. “That’s enough.”</p><p>Shran doesn’t move, his hand still wrapped around Thurek’s throat.</p><p>Archer grabs the edge of the table, turning to T’Pol. “Help me up – ”</p><p>“Jonathan.”</p><p>Shran’s voice is flat, and the effort to make it so is apparent in the rage Archer can hear frothing just beneath the surface – like a volcanic vent raging away underneath a placid ocean. “If you stay where you are, and let your first officer see to your injuries, then I won’t tear out this... <em>thing</em>’s throat.”</p><p>Archer hesitates for only a moment before nodding, slowly lowering himself back down to the floor and letting T’Pol keep pressure on his wound.</p><p>Shran waits until he’s seated before releasing Thurek’s neck, letting the Luevenon fall to the floor; turning his back as they desperately suck in air. As he walks away, the other members of their delegation rush forward to assist them now that they themselves aren’t in any danger of getting caught up in Shran’s wrath.</p><p>He crosses the floor and retakes his seat at the table, which just so happens to place him in-between Archer and Thurek, partially blocking the human from view. “Explain – before my companion’s mercy runs out.”</p><p>Thurek gets to their feet shakily, leaning on their own companions heavily. “We... we’ve been having trouble with an extremist, isolationist, xenophobic faction – we thought the trade negotiations might draw them out – give us the opportunity to arrest them – ”</p><p>“And you just – <em>conveniently</em> forgot to mention this to us?” Shran raises an eyebrow, his posture excessively lax to compensate for the fact that his left hand is hovering over his disruptor pistol.</p><p>“We had no idea that they would attack the event so with so much firepower,” Thurek insists, “they overpowered the guards we had deployed for the event. I sincerely apologize, we never intended for you to get caught in the crossfire –”</p><p>“I think that’s exactly what you intended,” Archer meets Thurek’s eyes with an even stare, “after all, <em>you</em> can’t be held responsible by your people if these rebels are killed by <em>aliens</em>, can you?”</p><p>Thurek doesn’t respond, swallowing thickly, their tentacles still and unmoving.</p><p>Archer scoffs, disgusted. “T’Pol, contact Admiral Gardner; have him declare this planet a ‘no-fly zone’ – from now on, no Earth ships are to land on or trade with this planet.”<br/><br/>“Captain Archer – ”</p><p>“I will be contacting my government with a similar request.” Shran pulls himself to his feet, “I assure you; you won’t be seeing any andorian commerce in this area for a very, <em>very</em> long time.”</p><p>“Gentlemen, <em>please</em>,” Thurek begs, desperation and sheer, utter, panic evident as the colour fades from their multichromatic eyes, “surely we can come to some arrangement – ”</p><p>“Return to the ship,” Shran orders his lieutenant, not sparing so much as a glance for Thurek, let alone a thought, “we’re done here.”</p><p>“Same goes for us.” Archer looks at T’Pol. “Make sure everyone who’s injured gets double checked by medical. I don’t want any – ”</p><p>The world spins around him, breath leaving his lungs as he’s overcome with a dizzying rush of colours and sounds.</p><p>“ - ptain?”</p><p>Archer tries to focus on T’Pol’s face, but all he catches is a blur of tan skin and brown hair, and the briefest flash of pointed ears.</p><p>“I think it might be time,” Archer’s voice sounds far away, as though it’s coming out of someone else’s mouth, “for that emergency transport.”</p><p>He doesn’t get to hear T’Pol’s reply, as the world goes dark around him a split second later – dragging him down further and further into its inky depths – swallowing him whole.</p><hr/><p>When Archer finally blinks awake, it’s to the white lights of sickbay, which are quickly blocked out by Phlox stepping into vision.</p><p>“Welcome back, Captain,” Phlox smiles, but it only draws more attention to the lines of exhaustion on his face. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Archer blinks a few more times, trying to figure out the answer.</p><p>“Groggy.”</p><p>He tries to sit up, only for Phlox to push him back down gently, but firmly.</p><p>“Ah, ah, ah,” Phlox gives his head a slight shake, “you, my friend, are not going anywhere for the time being. You’re extremely lucky that the Luevenon rebels were utilizing a more primitive form of projectile weapon – similar to your early twentieth century guns. If they had been utilizing phase pistols, then we might not be having this or any other conversation.”</p><p>Archer can feel some slight tenderness in his upper back, but he suspects it would feel a lot worse if not for whatever pain meds Phlox has given him. “How long was I out?”</p><p>“Oh, several hours.” Phlox runs some instruments over Archer, humming slightly, “It’s also very lucky that the “bullet”, so to speak, went straight through and didn’t become lodged inside you somewhere. If it had, your refusal to immediately return to the ship to receive medical care would have resulted in far more serious consequences.” </p><p>Archer closes his eyes, the intensity of the lights making him slightly nauseas. “I had to find out what happened – why we were attacked.”</p><p>“What you needed – and still need – is proper medical care and <em>rest,</em>” Phlox says, and Archer can hear him putting away his instruments. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to inform – ”</p><p>Phlox cuts himself off as the doors to sickbay slide open, but Archer keeps his eyes closed, still fighting back that wave of nausea.</p><p>He hears Phlox tut, moving away from his bed to greet the visitor. “I told you that I would inform you as soon as the Captain was well enough to talk – ”</p><p>“You’ll forgive me for being wary of your word, doctor,” Shran’s voice has Archer opening his eyes, turning his head to try and see him only for his line of sight to be blocked by Phlox, “it hasn’t exactly proven truthful in the past.”</p><p>Phlox doesn’t rise to the bait, keeping his voice firm and even. “The Captain is <em>resting</em> – I don’t want you aggravating his condition by discussing potentially stressful subjects – ”</p><p>“Shran,” Archer calls softly, attempting to defuse the argument before it can progress any further.</p><p>Phlox turns to face him, finally allowing the andorian into his line of sight. “Captain – ”</p><p>“Phlox, I promise, if my heartrate spikes you can throw him out,” Archer assures him, offering a small smile to Shran, “until then, let him say what he has to say.”</p><p>Phlox’s lips press together in a thin line, but he eventually relents with a sigh, gesturing for Shran to continue before walking over to one of his research stations to give the two of them the illusion of privacy.</p><p>Shran walks over to Archer’s bedside as though he’s some kind of feral beast that might lunge for the andorian’s throat when given half the chance; taking slow, measured steps until he’s standing next to Archer’s waist, on the opposite side of where the “bullet” tore through his back.</p><p>Archer gives him another teasing smile. “Don’t worry – it’s not catching.”</p><p>“Typical terran humor,” Shran mutters, his hand resting just inches away from Archer’s on the biobed, "as funny as rigelian fever.”</p><p>“Or a bullet.” Shran’s hand twitches on the bed, and Archer offers him an apologetic look. “Too soon?”</p><p>“Usually the custom is to wait until you’re no longer on your deathbed before making jokes about the thing that almost killed you,” Shran replies dryly. “But, then again, you’ve never been afraid to flout convention.”</p><p>“I’m hardly on my deathbed.” Archer closes his eyes briefly to get some momentary relief from the nausea, “When I am, trust me, it’ll be a hell of a lot more dramatic than this.”</p><p>“I’m going to make it my personal mission to make that untrue.” Shran’s lips curl into a slight teasing smile, a contrast to the way his eyes hold Archer’s in a silent promise, “When you go, Jonathan, it will be a calm, quiet death, on a pedestal of honours.”</p><p>“Not exactly a death worthy of the andorian wall of heroes.” Archer remarks, trying to ignore the way the words rest heavy in his chest, making his heart falter and his mouth go dry.</p><p>“On the contrary,” while they’ve been talking, their hands have moved closer together, but Archer doesn’t know which one of them closed the distance, only that now their fingers are almost brushing against each other, “it’s a death only the greatest among us can hope for.”  </p><p>They watch each other for a moment, eyes caught up in a gaze that neither one of them seems to want to break, before Shran looks away – checking over the machines displaying Archer’s vitals.</p><p>“Though it seems, as you said,” Shran’s voice is lighter now, with none of that heavy weight from before pressing down on the both of them, “that is rather far off. Much closer, however, is the proposal the Luevenons sent to my ship about an hour ago.”</p><p>Shran raises his other hand to reveal a PADD, glancing over it. “They seem quite eager to express their regret over nearly murdering our entire delegation, and you specifically. They’ve offered several thousand tons of dilithium in exchange for our forgiveness – a significantly more favourable deal than my government hoped to achieve.” He offers the PADD to Archer. “I had your first officer look it over – ”</p><p>“And T’Pol’s decision will no doubt reflect the Captain’s,” Phlox appears as if from thin air, yanking the PADD from Shran’s grip before Archer can reach for it, “meanwhile, the Captain will be spending the next three days here in sickbay – <em>resting</em>. If you want to continue to liaison with the Enterprise, please direct all your inquiries to our first officer. Now, if you please?” Phlox gestures to the doors, arching an eyebrow when Shran doesn’t immediately move.</p><p>“Looks like visiting hours are over,” Archer gives Shran a wry smile, subtly prodding him to make his exit despite silently wishing he wouldn’t leave.</p><p>Instead of taking the opening Archer gives him, Shran continues to linger. “We’re scheduled to rendezvous with the <em>Eketha </em>tomorrow.”</p><p>“No rest for the wicked,” Archer murmurs, hearing the words Shran isn’t saying. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”</p><p>Shran gives a slight nod, shifting ever so slightly so that when he takes his hand off the biobed, their fingers brush together, before turning and heading towards the doors. He pauses by Phlox, looking the doctor up and down, body stiff and tight with, no doubt, the memory of Talas’ last moments. “I’ll be expecting updates on his status.”</p><p>Phlox looks at Archer first, who nods, before gracing Shran with his usual congenial smile. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed.”</p><p>Shran gives Phlox a curt nod, gracing Archer with one last glance, before finally leaving the room.</p><p>Phlox waits until the doors close behind him before walking over to Archer, brows raised slightly. “When T’Pol informed me of your deception on the surface, I was glad to hear that Shran had sufficiently recovered from the loss of his mate to suggest and perpetrate such an endeavour. Now, however, I’m wondering if it’s time you and I had a discussion about Andorian mating practices.”</p><p>“I thought I was supposed to be resting,” Archer rolls his eyes, trying to fight back the heat that rushes to his face.</p><p>“You can rest and listen at the same time,” Phlox tells him, coming to stand by his bio-bed. “For starters, you should know that andorians – ”</p><p>“Phlox,” Archer shakes his head, cheeks no doubt pink with heat despite his best efforts, “there’s nothing going on between the two of us.” He huffs out a humourless laugh. “I mean, let’s face it, he and I aren’t exactly that compatible to begin with.”  </p><p>Phlox cocks his head to the side slightly. “That, I believe is a matter for debate. What, ehh, <em>aspect </em>in particular do you find the least compatible, exactly? His predilection towards aggressive behaviour?”</p><p>“I was more thinking along the lines of how Andorian marriages work,” Archer says, his face having cooled by now, that flush from before replaced by a quiet, tired air, “how they require four people.”</p><p>“Hardly the most unconventional of approaches,” Phlox reasons, “I know of many cultures where mates and marriages involve more than two people; the practice is not even all that uncommon on earth – ”</p><p>“I know it’s just – ” Archer searches in vain for the right words, giving up with a sigh after a few minutes. “I’d like to think I know myself well enough by now, and I know that isn’t the kind of relationship I want. No offence, doctor – ”</p><p>Phlox holds up a hand to stop him. “Perfectly understandable, Captain. We all have our limitations and our preferences – what’s important is that we understand and acknowledge them.” He pauses for a moment. “But you know, just as there are polyamorous Terran couples, there are also Andorian marriages consisting of only two partners – ”</p><p>“But it’s not the norm.” Archer argues, shaking his head. “Eventually, we’d have to choose – his wants or mine. Either way, one of us will be unhappy.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, blaming whatever meds Phlox has circulating through him right now for the fact that his mouth just won’t stop moving. “And I don’t want that for him.”</p><p>Phlox doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when he finally does speak his voice is so quiet, so soft, that it chafes at Archer’s exposed and already raw nerves. “Are you so sure that he wouldn’t – ”</p><p>“He’s already proven the lengths he’s willing to go to honour the prescribed Andorian way of life.” Archer closes his eyes, the scar on his thigh throbbing – the pain far too sharp for its phantom nature. “I already have enough scars, doctor; I don’t intend to get anymore.”</p><p>Silence falls between them, Archer keeping his eyes closed as though he’s a child once again and whatever problem he has will just disappear if he can’t see it anymore.</p><p>“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep.” Phlox says eventually, his voice still that soft murmur, and Archer has never been more grateful for him.</p><p>“Thanks, Phlox.” He murmurs back, just as the hiss and pinch of the hypospray goes into his neck; feeling a gentle pat on his shoulder just before sleep carries him away.</p><hr/><p>“He gave him a <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“A hickey, commander.” T’Pol takes another sip of her plomek broth. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept? You seem to take great pleasure in giving them to me.”</p><p>Trip flushes a shade of red that T’Pol finds quite, to use a human term, adorable. “That’s different – you and I are an item; <em>and</em> I didn’t try and kill you in some glorified gladiatorial combat.”</p><p>“It was for the purposes of the mission,” T’Pol reminds him, taking a bit of his pecan pie and ignoring his brief protest at the action, “They had to present a united front in order to maintain the upper hand in negotiations.”</p><p>Trip shakes his head. “Still, kinda sounds to me like Shran was taking advantage of the situation.”</p><p>“But not Captain Archer?” T’Pol raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“The Cap’n has a tendency to just go along with whatever’s best for the mission,” Trip shakes his head, muttering darkly, “no matter the personal cost.”</p><p>T’Pol regards him carefully. “It sounds as though you’re talking from personal experience.”</p><p>“I am.” Trip meets her gaze. “Have you forgotten about the Xindi? Everything we had to do – <em>he</em> had to do – you can’t tell me that didn’t cost him; that kinda thing gets under your skin... eats away at you.”</p><p>T’Pol considers this for a moment. “You do realize that you’re suggesting that Captain Shran <em>wanted</em> to give Captain Archer a hickey?”</p><p>“God, can we please stop talking about this?” Trip’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t like thinking about the Cap’n like that – especially not with <em>Shran</em>.”</p><p>T’Pol looks at him curiously. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I don’t trust the guy.” Trip shakes his head. “He’d sooner throw the Cap’n under a bus than betray his precious Imperial Guard – or stab him with one of those weird knives of his.”</p><p>“Ushaan-tor,” T’Pol corrects. “So, you distrust him because of his loyalty to his government?”</p><p>“No, I just – ” Trip stabs at his pecan pie like it is in imminent danger of escaping his plate. “Look, he’s a great officer, and he’s had our back more times than anyone else out here, I just – ”</p><p>“You don’t trust him with the Captain’s wellbeing,” T’Pol finishes.</p><p>Trip nods, clearly relieved that she has found the words for him. “Yeah, exactly.”</p><p>“You are rather protective of the Captain,” T’Pol notes, taking a final spoonful of her broth.</p><p>Trip raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh, and you’re not, Ms. Umbrella and SPF 250?”</p><p>“It is my duty to ensure the Captain remains in optimal physical health.” T’Pol returns smoothly, and not at all defensively, before absconding with the last piece of the pie.</p><p>“Hey!” Trip calls after her, jogging into step beside her. “You know, someday I’m gonna make you get your own damn pie.”</p><p>“I don’t desire any.”</p><p>“Then why the hell did you just eat half of mine?”</p><p>“You make a very aesthetically pleasing face when I do.”</p><p>Trip shakes his head, grumbling under his breath. “You’re lucky I love you.”</p><p>“Luck had nothing to do with it,” T’Pol counters, pausing at their quarters to give him a slight smile. “Nonetheless, you are correct.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Little bit of a shorter chapter this time, but I hope you guys enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The one good thing about Archer getting shot is that it finally gets them their damn vacation.</p><p>They get about a month break, two weeks of which are spent on rotation on Rigel IV, where it turns out T’Pol was not kidding about the umbrella; or the sunscreen. In fact, Archer’s pretty sure he comes out of the whole thing somehow <em>paler</em> than he was before.</p><p>The mark on his neck fades fairly quickly, but the memory of it, of Shran’s lips against his, hands running over his skin, remains. But he shoves it down, focusing on reading his book, playing catch with Porthos, and catching up on paperwork he let slip to the wayside.</p><p>And then three days after their break ends, he’s standing in an opulent ballroom, dress uniform scratching at his throat, trying to figure out how to navigate their current situation. Though to be honest, he’d prefer to be navigating an asteroid cluster.</p><p>“If we want to be the ones selected, we should approach the King sooner rather than later,” T’Pol murmurs, tipping her glass to her lips.</p><p>It’s been about an hour, and already three of the five groups gathered have approached the newly crowned ruler of Vrya Prime; the tellarites, rigellians, and the andorians. The andorians being led by Shran.</p><p>They’d met each other’s eyes when <em>Enterprise</em>’s delegation had been announced, Archer and Shran exchanging nods – something like relief passing over Shran’s face ever so quickly; which is odd given that Phlox had sent him updates every day until Archer was fully healed.</p><p>Archer shakes away the memory, focusing on their goal instead. “No, look; he’s shaken off every single delegation that’s approached as a group. We need to decide which one of us has the best shot and send them alone.”</p><p>“He appears to talk with male members of delegations 2.3 times longer than he does females,” T’Pol offers.</p><p>Archer sighs; it’s hardly surprising, but it still irks him that so many cultures still discriminate on the basis of sex. “So, it’s between me, Travis, or Malcolm.”</p><p>“Of the three, I find your percentage of success much more significant.” T’Pol takes his glass, a not so subtle nudge that she follows up with a much blunter one. “I recommend you go now before another delegation notices his preferences too.” </p><p>Archer gives a wry smile. “Wish me luck.”</p><p>T’Pol arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond, and Archer makes his way through the crowd to the King; ignoring the way the room seems to part like the red sea when the others in the ballroom realize his destination.</p><p>The King is fairly young, looks to be about Travis’ age in Terran years at least, and has deep purple skin like the rest of his people, with silver dots painted down his arms and the side of his face, marking his royal status. His eyes, completely black, stare down Archer as he approaches; imperious right down to the slight tilt of his head.</p><p>“Your Majesty.” Archer offers his hand in the ritual gesture Hoshi showed him a few hours ago, hoping like hell that he got it right. “Captain Archer, <em>Enterprise</em>.”</p><p>He must not screw it up too badly, because the King returns the gesture, holding his hand out as he takes a step closer to Archer. “Captain. Does your delegation have no other members?”</p><p>“No, we have a few more.” Archer offers a smile, emboldened by the fact this is the first time the King hasn’t immediately dropped his hand after reciprocating the gesture. “I just thought it might be easier for us to talk one on one. But I can call over the others if you’d prefer?”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary.” The King’s eyes dart around the room before returning to Archer’s. “If you have the time, perhaps you’d care to indulge me in a walk around the gardens?”</p><p>It sets off titters throughout the room, the couples dancing drawing to a complete stop as everyone that wasn’t already stares openly at the two of them.</p><p>Archer smiles. “It would be my honour.”</p><p>The King takes his hand, sending yet another wave of titters cascading through the crowd, leading Archer through the back doors into the gardens. The doors are made out of intricate metal frames and two-way glass, protecting the two of them from sight as soon as they close behind them; and Archer has to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief.</p><p>The King continues to lead him by his hand, finally drawing to a stop near a marble fountain, water cascading out of some strange sea creature’s mouth, before releasing Archer’s hand.</p><p>Archer moves a few steps away, drawn in by the soft blue luminescent light of the flowers that surround them – their radiance only growing with every step he takes.</p><p>“These are incredible,” Archer reaches out a hand, fingers not quite brushing the petals, “What are they c - ?”</p><p>“I commend you for your technique, Captain,” the King voice is flat, sharp, practically planets away from the soft imperial quality it had in the ballroom, “it’s the first time I’ve witnessed anyone attempt to approach a newly crowned monarch alone. You’re either very sure of yourself, or very unsure of the rest of your delegation.”</p><p>“Actually, I would trust each and every one of them with my life,” Archer draws back from the flower, crossing back towards the King to take a seat next to him on the edge of the fountain, “and believe me, I have.”</p><p>The King arches an eyebrow at him. “But you don’t think them capable enough to catch my eye? You would rather risk it all on your own seduction techniques?” The King scoffs, rolling his eyes, “You must be very skillful.”</p><p>Archer’s brain catches on <em>“seduction techniques”, </em>stumbling over it for a few moments before deciding the universal translator must be having troubles decoding whatever expression the King used. “I certainly consider myself entertaining, if that’s what you mean.”</p><p>“So, you mean to humour me into fucking you?”</p><p>Archer nearly falls backwards into the fountain, mouth opening and closing uselessly before he lets out a nervous chuckle. “Apologies, I think my UT is malfunctioning – ”</p><p>“A king can’t use the word fuck?”</p><p>“That’s not what I – hang on,” Archer holds up a hand, trying to adjust to this new information, “you thought I approached you because I wanted to have sex with you?”</p><p>“Yes,” The King frowns, “were you not attempting to gain the <em>Urshol</em>?”</p><p>“Yes, but I – ” Archer shakes his head, “I thought the Urshol was you promising a favor to whoever managed to impress you the most.”</p><p>“It is,” The King says, “in part. The other part involves me sleeping with that person to prove my strength as leader.” The King rolls his eyes. “As if I have to be consumed with the urge to stick my genitals in something every few minutes in order to be an effective leader.”  </p><p>Archer’s head reels, and he would stand up if not for the fact that he feels like his legs might not support him.</p><p>The King watches him, his sharp demeaner softening. “You didn’t know.”</p><p>Archer sucks in a breath between his teeth. “No offence, your highness – ”</p><p>“Pash-tol.” Archer glances at him, meeting his dark gaze, “My name is Pash-tol.”</p><p>“Pash-tol,” Archer repeats, sure that his tongue is tripping over the name. “If I had known what this ceremony involved, I never would have placed my people in such a compromising situation – where they would have to choose between following their orders and – ”</p><p>Archer cuts himself off, forcing himself to take a deep breath in through his nose. Gardner is going to get one hell of a mission report – the man is lucky he’s thousands of light years away, or Archer would cram it right down his throat.</p><p>Pash-tol’s hand rests on Archer’s shoulder. “I apologize, Captain. I misjudged you. If you would be amenable, I have a proposition for you.”</p><p>Archer turns to face him. “Proposition?”</p><p>“I will pick you as my favourite to satisfy those outdated court gremlins, and your government.” Pash-tol’s eyes sharpen once again. “But only on the condition that when the two of us retire to my room, we will spend the next few hours drinking <em>Vroeale </em>and you can tell me of your adventures among the stars – and nothing more. And with the knowledge that the favour I give is yours alone, not your government’s.”</p><p>Archer considers the words for a moment before nodding, the corners of his lips curling upwards. “I think I can get behind that.”</p><p>“Excellent.” Pash-tol stands, extending his hand towards Archer. “Shall we?”</p><p>Archer takes his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up and led back to the ballroom doors.</p><p>“<em>Ur</em>.”</p><p>Archer turns to face Pash-tol, brows furrowed. “I didn't quite catch that.”</p><p>“<em>Ur</em>.” Pash-tol draws one of the blue flowers from beneath his rope, affixing it to the breast of Archer’s dress uniform. “It’s the name of the flower. It means heart in our language, and <em>Shol</em> means keeper. Thus, the one who receives the <em>Urshol </em>is the keeper of the heart.”</p><p>Pash-tol draws back, and Archer resists the temptation to run his hands over the petals, half scared to breath wrong in case he somehow manages to blow them away. “It’s a beautiful name.”</p><p>“For a barbaric custom.” Pash-tol hesitates for a moment. “I will have to kiss you, once we enter, to signify you as my chosen.”</p><p>Archer nods. “I understand.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Pash-tol offers his hand. “Shall we?”</p><p>Archer takes it. “Let’s do this.”</p><p>If Archer had thought the ballroom was quiet when they left, when they re-enter it’s as though they’re stepping into a tomb. There’s no movement, and the murmurs that pass around the room sound like half-faded whispers from the other side.</p><p>Archer makes eye contact with T’Pol, who gives a slight nod, which he chooses to take as the Vulcan equivalent of a thumbs up. The rest of crew seem to practically beaming pride; Hoshi making a subtle celebratory motion with her hands, Malcolm and Travis nudging each other not-so-subtly in the side.</p><p>The other delegations don’t look quite so happy. Archer is pretty sure that the rigellians are trying to murder him with their eyes, while the tellerites look a hairsbreadth away from reaching for their disruptors, and the andorians –</p><p>Shran’s grip on his glass is white knuckled – like it had been that day on the verandah – and Archer is expecting it to shatter any second now. His eyes bore into, not Archer like everyone else in the room, but Pash’tol, with an intensity that far surpasses both the rigellians and the tellerites, and Archer can practically feel the cold fury emanating off of him from across the room.</p><p>“I have selected my Urshol,” Pash-tol speaks, drawing Archer’s attention back to him, his voice back to how it had been when Archer first approached him, “by the laws of our people, I will bestow upon him my favour – to be used within one year of its gifting.” He moves his other hand to Archer’s face, tilting his head up slightly – and out of the corner of his eyes Archer can see the confusion spreading through the rest of his crew.</p><p>“I now consummate this deal before the eyes of Vryal herself, and all those gathered here today.”</p><p>Without anything further, he presses their lips together.</p><p>And right before the raucous celebrations of the Vrya begin, along with the more or less polite clapping of the rest of the ballroom, Archer could swear he hears a glass shatter.</p><hr/><p>Pash-tol and Archer talk into the early hours of the morning. The man is a great conversationalist, and Archer can’t remember the last time he had so much fun with someone who wasn’t a member of his crew – and by the time he leaves he finds himself reluctant to do so, and it seems Pash-tol is also reluctant for him to leave as well; delaying his exit longer and longer after a suitable amount of time has passed to avoid suspicion.</p><p>Eventually though, he has to leave, or risk falling asleep on Pash-tol’s couch, and he makes his way back to his room for the night; stumbling slightly under the effects of either his fatigue or the many cups of vreoale he drank – or maybe both.</p><p>He turns the corner to his rooms and comes to a stop, blinking a few times to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he is. But when the image refuses to change, he’s forced to admit that Shran is leaning against the wall next to his room, arms crossed and staring at the opposite wall. One of his hands seems have multiple small cuts on it, the skin around them raised around the dark blue, but dried, blood.</p><p>“Shran,” Archer greets, moving past the humanoid turned statue to type in the code to his room.</p><p>“You were certainly gone a long time,” Shran says, not turning to look at him, or the blue flower still pinned in place on his chest. “The King must have made good use of you.”</p><p>Archer rolls his eyes. “Tasteful, Commander, very tasteful.”</p><p>“Really? I was under the impression humans found this sort of thing rather <em>distasteful,</em>” Shran replies, stepping through the doors once they slide open; Archer following in behind him despite the fact that it’s <em>his </em>room.</p><p>“We do.” Archer makes his way over to the bedside table, carefully unpinning the flower from his chest and placing it there; waiting until the doors have closed behind them before continuing. “Which is why I didn’t sleep with him.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Shran snorts, taking a seat in one of the armchairs centered around something similar to a small coffee table, “it appears his highness isn’t that good a host – kicking you out of his bed before the sun’s come up.”</p><p>“Actually, I didn’t even get in his bed,” Archer makes his way over as well, sliding into one of the chairs opposite Shran.</p><p>Shran’s jaw clenches. “Please, Captain, I don’t need to hear all the salacious details – ”</p><p>“There aren’t any.” Archer meets his gaze, waiting for Shran to understand. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”</p><p>Shran stares at him, and Archer watches and waits for the pieces to slot into place in his mind. “You didn’t receive the Urshol?”</p><p>“Oh, I received the favour, alright,” Archer pours himself a glass of water before pouring one for Shran as well, “I just didn’t have sex with him.”</p><p>“That’s... not possible.”</p><p>“And yet, I spent the past few hours doing nothing more than exchanging stories and drinking.” Archer replies, standing up and grabbing a small bag from inside one of his cases. “Now, why don’t you give me your hand?”</p><p>“My hand?” Shran repeats, still gaping at Archer.</p><p>“Yes, your hand.” Archer’s lips twitch slightly, carefully reaching forward and pulling Shran’s hand into the light. It’s not cut up as badly as Archer first feared, but Shran still winces when he applies the alcohol. “You should have had this treated before you decided to loiter outside my door.”</p><p>“It’s hardly worth the trouble.” Shran drawls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t attempt to yank his hand back from Archer or prevent him from wrapping a bandage around it.</p><p>“How’d it happen?” Archer asks, securing the bandage and putting away his other supplies.</p><p>Shran huffs. “Clearly the Vrya’s glasswork is by far inferior to Andorian; I applied the slightest pressure and the damn thing shattered in my hands.”</p><p>“Odd that no one else seemed to have trouble with theirs,” Archer remarks, inspecting the bandage once more before drawing back, satisfied, and letting Shran have his hand back.</p><p>Shran huffs again. “Weaklings. Their grip couldn’t crush a fly, let alone poorly made glass.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” Archer leans back into the chair, smiling slightly. “In any case, was there something you needed from me? Besides medical care.”</p><p>Shran rolls his eyes. “Nothing of too much note. I was simply curious to see if you really had sacrificed your precious Terran morals for your own gain.”  </p><p>“Not this time,” Archer says, quietly, thinking of a ship gutted and left in the expanse and a people that wouldn’t see their loved ones again for years.</p><p>Shran seems to catch on to his mood, regarding him carefully as silence settles over the two of them for a brief moment.</p><p>Archer shakes his head, offering Shran a wry smile. “It’s late, I’m going to try and get a few hours in before I have to return to the ship. You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”</p><p>“As much as I would no doubt enjoy sleeping on your couch,” Shran says dryly, pulling himself to his feet, “I wouldn’t want everyone else to think you were a... <em>loose</em> man; falling out of a king’s bed and into a captain’s.”</p><p>“Technically, it’s my own bed,” Archer points out, “and it’s big enough to share, so you wouldn’t have to take the couch. As for how I come across to others, I’d much rather see to the comfort of a friend than protect my own reputation.”</p><p>Shran hums thoughtfully, making sure his bandage is in place before meeting Archer’s gaze. “Then it’s a good thing I’m looking out for both of ours.”</p><p>He makes his way across the room, pausing in the doorway to offer Archer one final glance. “Goodnight, Jonathan; pleasant dreams.”</p><p>“Goodnight Thy’lek,” Archer returns, pushing down the pitiful little desire that threatens to clamber out of his heart and off his lips, swallowing that one little word.</p><p>
  <em>Stay.</em>
</p><p>Shran nods, before turning and leaving for good this time, the door sliding closed behind him.</p><p>Archer leans forward onto his knees as everything that’s been keeping him upright for the past couple hours leaves his body in a heavy sigh. He’s tired, almost beyond belief, and the thought of explaining everything to his crew, of having to look Admiral Gardner in the eye and try not to scream himself hoarse with anger, is exhausting. And past all that, deep within his being, is a lonely and useless ache for a thing that he’s already decided he doesn't need – or rather, that he <em>can’t</em> need – for the feel of cool skin against his own, hands intertwined as they watch the stars.  </p><hr/><p><br/>“It was rather... poorly planned, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Phlox holds up his hand placatingly at the sharp look the others at the table don’t hesitate to shoot him. “Not Captain Archer’s approach, he did extraordinarily well in the circumstances; but I can’t help but think that withholding such vital information was a rather... well, I’ll just say it. A foolish move on the Admiral’s behalf.”</p><p>“That’s one way of looking at it,” Malcolm mutters darkly, glaring at his food as though daring it to get up and walk off his plate. “Calling it “strategic”, is another.”</p><p>“Where’s the strategy in not giving us the whole picture?” Travis asks, glancing around at the others at the table. “If any of us had gone to the garden with the King instead of the Captain, the mission would have been ruined anyway and we probably would have insulted the guy somehow in the process.”</p><p>“Men like Gardner don’t think like that,” Malcolm replies, shaking his head slightly. “All tucked away nice and safe in their ivory towers, they expect us to do everything and anything for the sake of duty – no matter the personal cost. Bastard probably thought we’d choose the ‘only way’ out once we found ourselves backed into a corner, caught between our orders and – ” Malcolm cuts himself off, knuckles white where his hands are clenched into fists on top of the table. “Bastard.”</p><p>Phlox sighs. “Not a day goes by where I don’t find myself more appreciative of Admiral Forrest, and more grieved by his loss.”</p><p>Silence falls over the table for a moment, everyone staring at their respective dinners as opposed to eating them.</p><p>“On the bright side,” Hoshi finally says, “it’s the first time I’ve heard the Captain use such colourful language in a long time; and such interesting combinations.”</p><p>The mood shifts slightly, Travis letting out a small laugh, and even Phlox feeling a smile tug at his lips – only Malcolm doesn’t respond, still engaged in a starting match with his food.</p><p>“Speaking of bright side,” Travis continues, starting to dig into his mean, “being stuck on patrol duty and not first contact for a while means I might be able to convince the Captain to let me practice some more battle maneuvers.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Phlox raises a finger at the Ensign in mock sternness, “just so long as you aren’t throwing this ship around too hard – <em>I</em> could use the extra time to conduct some research experiments. What, ehh, do you plan to do with the time, Lieutenant? Lieutenant?”</p><p>Malcolm starts slightly the second time Phlox calls his name. “What?”</p><p>“Your plans, Lieutenant,” Phlox asks again, patiently, “to fill the extra time we’ve been given?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know I...” Malcolm trails off before shrugging. “I suppose there are a few books that I need to finish.”</p><p>“Hopefully something more cheerful than the last book you recommended to me,” Hoshi teases gently, offering Malcolm a smile, “or at least a slightly lower word count.”</p><p>The soft jibe works, drawing Malcolm out of whatever dark place the whole scenario had pulled him into, offering a teasing smile of his own back. “I hadn’t pegged you for the unicorns and rainbows type.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Hoshi shrugs, taking a bite of her meal. “I prefer mermaids.”</p><p>That draws a genuine laugh out of Malcolm and the conversation moves on to even lighter topics from them; Phlox listening absentmindedly and offering the odd comment here or there when the situation calls for it. Meanwhile, he makes a note to schedule Lieutenant Reed for an appointment, so that the two of them can discuss the nature of that dark mire he’d been stuck in and how to better navigate it in the future.</p><hr/><p>“Come in.”</p><p>T’Pol steps through and Archer would make himself sit up for her if not for the fact that bouncing his ball against the bulkhead wall is the only thing keeping him from ordering <em>Enterprise</em> to Earth so he can kick Gardner’s ass –</p><p>“I see you are utilizing your usual method of stress management,” T’Pol remarks, placing a tray of something that smells delicious on his desk, “However, perhaps I could convince you to take a brief break in order to consume some form of sustenance?</p><p>Archer rolls his eyes but catches the ball and shifts into a sitting position. “You know, every day you really do become more and more like my mother.”</p><p>T’Pol arches an eyebrow at him. “Again, if you deigned to practice even the most minimal amount of self-care, I would not have to.”   </p><p>“I’m not that bad.” Archer protests, but it fails to compete with the temerity of that eyebrow arch, and they both know it. “Alright, perhaps there is <em>some</em> room for improvement.”</p><p>“You can start by consuming the daily recommended nutrition for your height and age,” T’Pol says, looking pointedly at the tray on the desk, “instead of trying to obtain all your recommended calories through cups of coffee.”</p><p>“Can’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” Archer replies, moving over to his desk and taking a seat.</p><p>“Factually incorrect,” T’Pol returns, taking the chair opposite him. “If it were correct, as Commander Trip says, far more people would allow their roommates to keep spiders as pets.”</p><p>Archer mutters incomprehensible words under his breath, unable to come up with a counter argument, but still refusing to cede the point. Instead, he turns his focus to his meal – what looks to be chef’s take on Hoshi’s Udon recipe. Soon, a few slow bites turn into more and more, as his stomach finally realizes how hungry it is.</p><p>“I trust you find the meal palatable?” T’Pol asks.</p><p>Archer nods. “’S great, thanks.”</p><p>“Gratitude in unnecessary.” T’Pol types a few notes into her PADD, avoiding eye contact. “I am simply performing one of my required duties.”</p><p>Archer raises an eyebrow of his own. “Pretty sure meal delivery isn’t part of the usual first officer workload.”</p><p>“Perhaps; but ensuring the well-being of the captain is.”</p><p>Something warm unfolds in Archer’s chest, softly seeping into his bones as he stares at T’Pol, a mass of feelings constricting his throat. “You don’t have to worry about me so much; I can take care of myself.”</p><p>“I am aware,” T’Pol replies, finally looking up from her PADD to make eye contact with him, “however, you do have a tendency to place the value of your own care beneath that of others.”</p><p>“I think I have a couple of ex-partners that might disagree with you on that.” Archer jokes, sending T’Pol a teasing smile.</p><p>“As a scientist, I made it a policy to base my findings on observations, not biased accounts,” T’Pol returns smoothly, and the sheer amount of steadfast faith in his character hidden within those carefully neutral words strengthens that warm feeling within him.</p><p>Archer offers her another smile, before turning back to his food, comfortable silence settling over them for a few minutes.</p><p>“Captain Shran inquired after you once you and the king left the reception,” T’Pol announces, and Archer struggles not to inhale a noodle at the sudden non sequitur, “he seemed quite anxious to ascertain your status and intentions.”</p><p>“I know, I found him waiting outside my quarters when I got back.” Archer focuses on his food, coincidentally avoiding eye contact with T’Pol in the process. “I think he was looking forward to calling me a hypocrite for violating my morals so easily – unfortunately for him, I ruined his plans.”</p><p>“If I might say so,” T’Pol’s eyes burn into the side of Archer’s face, “it seemed to me that his intentions were of a more noble nature. He expressed, albeit in a rather aggressive manner, genuine concern for your safety.”</p><p>Archer meets her eyes at this, frowning. “Not too aggressive I hope.”  </p><p>“No,” T’Pol assures him, and he relaxes slightly, still caught in her gaze, “I am glad he was able to talk with you before we left orbit – otherwise I doubt the festivities would have ended on the auspicious note that they did.”</p><p>“Auspicious,” Archer repeats, shaking his head, frustration over the whole thing starting to simmer within him once more.</p><p>“You disagree with my wording?”</p><p>“No, I just – ” Archer cuts himself off, clenching his jaw. “I don’t want to ascribe any positive adjectives to the whole damn mess.”</p><p>“You are referring to the intentional with-holding of information on the part of the Admiral.” There’s an odd note in T’Pol’s tone that wasn’t there before, not directed at Archer, but at some third party neither of them can reach at the moment.</p><p>Archer closes his eyes, trying to breathe through the anger steadily rising up within him and sticking in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. “He let us go down there without the full picture, just to get some damn favour that we don’t even know if we’ll use. If one of you – ” Archer cuts himself off, taking in another deep breath and continuing on the exhale. “If you’d suggested Malcolm, or Travis, or Hoshi, or yourself instead, and if Pash-tol hadn’t been as appalled by the whole thing as we were – as Gardner should have been – it all could have gone a hell of a lot worse.”</p><p>“You make a valid point, and the Admiral should answer for his actions,” T’Pol says, and for a brief second Archer imagines he can almost hear the same anger he feels burning through her as well, before her voice gives way to something softer, “however, I fail to see the use in torturing yourself for a consequence that did not occur.”</p><p>“They’re my crew,” Archer meets her eyes, “I’m responsible for what happens to them. And I led them right into – ”</p><p>“You are not to blame.” T’Pol gets to her feet, crossing the distance between them to stand in front of Archer, making sure that he can’t break her gaze. “There is not a single crewman on this ship that holds you responsible – ”</p><p>“They should!” Archer snaps, standing up as well. “I should have asked more questions, pushed harder with Gardner, not just rolled over and did whatever he wanted – ”</p><p>“You are exaggerating your own abilities,” T’Pol cuts him off firmly, “you did what you could with the situation you were presented with. You are not to blame.”</p><p>“You don’t – ”</p><p>“Understand what you’re feeling?” T’Pol arches an eyebrow at him. “Have you forgotten what happened at P’Jem? How I considered myself responsible for its destruction and the loss it presented to the Vulcan people?”</p><p>Archer deflates slightly, some of the anger leaking out from the hole T’Pol’s words have poked in his logic. “That’s different – ”</p><p>“Do you remember what you said to me when I expressed that to you?” T’Pol asks, ignoring his protest.</p><p>Archer sighs slightly, the last of his anger escaping with it. “I said, “don’t give yourself too much credit”.”</p><p>“Words that I would encourage you to consider now.”</p><p>Silence blankets them for a moment, before Archer feels his lips quirk upward under the weight of it, shaking his head. “You know, I forgot how good an arguer you are.”</p><p>“I would prefer the term, logical debater,” T’Pol says, but Archer can see the slightest of ticks that lets him know she’s doing the Vulcan equivalent of a smile too.</p><p>Archer huffs out a laugh. “In any case, thank you.”</p><p>“No need, as I said, I was simply performing my duty.” T’Pol’s eyes flicker back to his meal. “I’ll leave you to your meal. And it would help ship efficiency if you were to abstain from any caffeinated beverages and get the full quota of sleep recommended for a human your age.”</p><p>“Alright,” Archer rolls his eyes, making a slight shooing motion with his hand, “I think I’ve had enough mothering for one day; dismissed Commander.”</p><p>T’Pol inclines her head slightly before making for the door, Archer moving to retake his seat at his desk and return to his Udon.<br/><br/>“There was one more matter I wished to discuss with you.” Archer turns to look at where T’Pol is hovering in the doorway, looking back at him. “Commander Tucker has a theory that Captain Shran may be harbouring romantic feelings for you – I wished to inquire whether or not you also thought this might be the case.”</p><p>Archer feels his face heat, quickly turning back to slurping his noodles so that he has some sort of cover for the pink in his cheeks, even a shaky one. “Ah. I’m afraid Trip has a bad habit of being a little overprotective towards me when it comes to stuff like that. Even threatened a telemarketer one time.”</p><p>“I see.” T’Pol’s gaze still burns into the side of his face. “So you do not believe that Captain Shran holds any such feelings towards you – ?”</p><p>“Let’s put it this way,” Archer cuts her off, composed enough that he can finally turn away from the noodles, “I’m about as sure that Shran has feelings for as I am that Gardner is a competent Admiral.”</p><p>T’Pol seems to take a moment to decipher and absorb this, before offering Archer one final nod. “Goodnight, Captain.”</p><p>“Goodnight, T’Pol.”</p><p>The doors swish closed behind her and Archer finally lets himself slump forward in his chair, all the careful grace and rigidness of his “Captain Posture” falling away like dandelion seeds in the wind.</p><p>Porthos rushes forward and places his paws on Archer’s knees, tail wagging slightly, as he pushes his face against one of Archer’s hands – dark eyes looking like they know entirely too much for such a small creature.</p><p>Archer pets him gently, shaking his head. “Sign up for Starfleet, they said, it’ll be fun they said. Tell you what, Porthos, when I get back Earth-side I’m making a few changes to those recruitment pamphlets they hand out.”<br/><br/>Porthos lets out a soft rumble of agreement and, well, that’s all the support Archer’s ever needed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Remind me <em>why</em> we’re playing this?”</p><p>“<em>C’mon</em>, Malcolm,” Trip nudges him, “you gotta admit, it’s a good way to pass time.”</p><p>“If you’re looking for a way to pass the time, might I suggest performing your duties?” Malcolm rolls his eyes. “Not coming up with juvenile games.”</p><p>“Don’t bother, Trip, he’s just covering for the fact that he can’t think of anything,” Hoshi calls out, a smirk pulling at her lips.</p><p>Malcolm arches an eyebrow at her and smirks right back. “Well, someone needs to go ask Chef for a slice of humble pie, because as it turns out, <em>Ensign Sato</em>, I’ve already thought of three.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Hoshi meets his gaze. “Prove it.”</p><p>“Gladly.” Malcolm clears his throat, leaning back in his chair slightly. “Xylophone, Xindi and Xenos.”</p><p>“Xenos?” Archer asks, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“It means ‘Alien’ in Ancient Greek.” Hoshi explains.</p><p>Archer hums. “Appropriate, I suppose, given the circumstances. Malcolm wins.”</p><p>“To declare Lt. Reed a winner would violate the rules of the game,” T’Pol interjects, not even glancing up from her work station as she speaks, “as I understand it, we have to progress through the entire alphabet and say as many words that start with our assigned letter as we can – and Ens. Sato has yet to offer any words starting with Z.”</p><p>“You’re awfully informed for someone who shot down the whole thing.” Trip remarks.</p><p>“I simply felt, as Lt. Reed does, that my time could be better spent.” T’Pol types a few more commands into her station, pausing to watch them finish before meeting Trip’s eyes. “Besides, you seemed to do well enough without me – you came up with a total of 110 words.”</p><p>Trip fist pumps. “Woo! Do y’all hear that? A hundred-and-ten-words; beat that!”</p><p>“Both Ens. Sato and Lt. Reed already have.”</p><p>All the joy flies out of Trip in an instant. “What’s that now?”</p><p>“Lt. Reed has a total of 230 words, while Ens. Sato has approximately,” T’Pol pauses to run the calculations in her head, “554 words.”</p><p>Trip lets out a groan of disappointment. “See, now how is this fair? Hoshi’s a damn genius when it comes to languages – if this were a game about warp engine parts, I’d have you all beat.”</p><p>“I’m sure you would, Trip.” Archer soothes, trying and failing to hide the smile spreading across his face. A smile that soon infects everyone on the bridge, even T’Pol.</p><p>“Oh, well, now, aren’t we all <em>real</em> mature.” Trip drawls, shaking his head and turning back to his station with a pout, muttering about various different warp engine parts under his breath.</p><p>Eventually, a kind of calm retakes the bridge, and Archer is about to suggest another game to play when Hoshi’s station beeps.</p><p>“Incoming transmission from Starfleet.” Hoshi looks at Archer with obvious relief. “It’s from Acting-Admiral Thompson.”</p><p>The past two weeks while Gardner’s been on administrative leave as Starfleet reviews his actions have been the most stress-free of the entire damn mission. Just back to basic exploration as they make their way through the stars and among the planets, meeting new life and new civilizations; and Archer has loved every bit of it. But as the days went by and the chances that the review period could end at any moment and Thompson’s calm, peaceful nature be replaced by a Gardner, that stress has started to accumulate once more. So, as far as Archer’s concerned, every day that they get to see Thompson’s smiling face instead of Gardner’s sour mug is a day to be thankful for.</p><p>“On screen.”</p><p>Hoshi nods, pressing a few buttons, and soon Admiral Thompson’s face appears on the <em>Enterprise</em>’s viewscreen. “Captain Archer.”</p><p>“Admiral Thompson.” Archer offers the man a wide smile. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”</p><p>Thompson grimaces. “I’m afraid it's not so much of a pleasure as a problem, Archer. We’ve just received word from the Andorian Imperial Guard that one of their ships is being held hostage.”</p><p>It as though everything sort of... fades out. Distantly, he’s aware that Admiral Thompson is still talking, very likely about things that Archer should be paying close attention to, but it’s like he’s hearing it all from underwater; everything muffled and distant, to the point that it’s almost nonsensical, overwhelmed by a deep seated dread that grips him and a desperate wish that burns on his tongue.</p><p>“ – made ransom demands, but the andorians won’t let us know what they were; just claimed that they "don’t negotiate with terrorists". They would’ve sent a ship from their own fleet to assist, but every vessel they have is about three days travel at max warp. Which is why they reached out to us to see if we were any closer, so that means it’s between you and <em>Columbia</em>, and since they’re at least two days away, whereas <em>Enterprise</em> is only a few hours...”</p><p>Thompson trails off, and Archer manages to pull himself back together enough to give a sharp nod in response. “Understood. Did they tell us what ship is being held hostage?”</p><p>“It’s the <em>Zletha</em>.”</p><p>He knows the answer before it’s given, but it still hits like a punch to the gut, and he struggles not to let out a ragged exhale in its wake – pressing his lips tightly together and maintaining his “captain posture”. “Understood.”</p><p>“I’ve sent you the planet’s co-ordinates and all the information the andorians shared with us about their people.” Admiral Thompson lets out a slight sigh, “Took a hell of a lot of convincing to get that info, Archer, hope it serves you well.”</p><p>“Thank you, Admiral.” Archer can see T’Pol already pulling up the files out of the corner of his eye, and directly in front of him Travis begins to plot the new navigation course. “We’ll be sure to make you proud.”</p><p>“I know you will.” Admiral Thompson gives him a slight nod. “Good luck, <em>Enterprise.</em> Thompson, out.”</p><p>“<em>Enterprise</em>, out.” Archer returns, a bit more softly, Hoshi cutting the transmission link a moment later. He gives himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to fight back the image of a familiar figure bound and bloodied. “You heard the Admiral; we’ve got some people to save. Travis, take us to the coordinates, warp factor 4, T’Pol, Trip, Malcolm, in my ready room.”</p><p>“Aye aye, Captain.” Travis says, finishing plotting in the course and setting their speed.</p><p>Archer nods, standing up and making his way over to the ready room, the other three senior officers on the bridge following behind. As soon as the door is closed, he turns to face the three of them, focusing his gaze first on T’Pol. “You manage to get anything from the files so far?”</p><p>“I will need to review them in more detail during our journey, however I was able to glean an amount of information a sufficient enough to offer a recommendation.” T’Pol keeps herself in parade rest, hands carefully folded behind her back, “I believe this situation may simply be the result of a significant, but resolvable, misunderstanding. Our best option would be to address the hostage takers, the srindils, directly; as attempting any kind of subterfuge may only serve to worsen the situation.”</p><p>“And if you’re wrong, we could be serving ourselves up on a platter.” Malcolm points out, turning his gaze from T’Pol to Archer. “I recommend we go in armed, disable these srindils through the use of stun weaponry, and beam out with the hostages; that way we limit any risk to our personel.”</p><p>“And potentially aggravate an already tenuous situation.” T’Pol counters, raising an eyebrow slightly at Malcolm. “The last thing we want is to turn a this into a diplomatic incident.”</p><p>“I’d say that ship’s sailed,” Trip says, “otherwise they wouldn’t have called <em>us</em> in to resolve the situation.”</p><p>“I’ll rephrase then,” T’Pol holds Trip and Malcolm’s gaze evenly, “the last thing we want is to turn this into an <em>even greater</em> diplomatic incident.”</p><p>“I appreciate the need for caution, Malcolm,” Archer says gently, but firmly, “but I think T’Pol’s right on this. The last thing we want is to show up and make things worse or have any of the hostages caught in the crossfire. We’ll equip the landing party with phase pistols, and I want you and the MAKOs on standby just in case, but let’s try and resolve this... <em>misunderstanding</em> through less volatile measures if we can.”</p><p>Malcolm’s lips thin, but he nods. “Understood, Captain.”</p><p>“Good,” Archer thinks for a moment, organizing his thoughts and words, before continuing, “Hoshi, T’Pol, Phlox and I will make up the landing party. Trip, you’ll send a message down to the surface when we arrive, let them know who’s coming down and why; it also probably goes without saying, but you’ll be in charge of <em>Enterprise</em> until we get back.”</p><p>“I’ll try not to scratch her paint while you’re gone.” Trip jokes, but Archer can see a little spark of worry that’s settled in his eyes just before he turns to face T’Pol, “You make sure to get yourself and the Cap’n back here in one piece, you hear?”</p><p>“I will ensure it remains a top priority.” T’Pol tells him, extending two fingers towards him, which he meets with two of his own. And it seems even Malcolm is affected by the warm, fuzziness Archer can feel in his chest at the sight of them, said armory officer unable to fight back a smile as he rolls his eyes.  </p><p>“Alright, you’ve all got your assignments,” Archer nods at them, “let’s get those hostages back; dismissed.”</p><p>Trip and Malcolm nod at him, and T’Pol inclines her head slightly, all three turning and leaving the ready room; and with it, Archer.</p><p>He closes his eyes, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart, but it’s as though someone has painted the thoughts he’s trying to escape on the back of his eyelids. They’re elaborate paintings, depicting every and any horror that these srindils might be inflicting on their hostages – or rather, on one hostage in particular – in excruciating detail. Staring at them, it feels as though someone has reached a hand inside him and twisted his insides around, leaving him dizzy and overwhelmingly nauseated.</p><p>“He’ll be fine.” Archer says to an empty room, “He’s been in way tougher situations that this. He’ll be – he <em>is</em> – fine.”</p><p>He says the words in a calm, steady voice, and perhaps it might even have helped some; had the room’s furniture, not its occupant, been the one that needed convincing.</p><hr/><p>They beam down in front of a large building, a place that T’Pol had identified as the capital building from the Imperial Guard’s files, and where their ship’s sensors had isolated several andorian bio signs. It’s constructed of some sort of wood, pale blue logs arranged into an elaborate building with a towering circular roof that in any other circumstance, Archer would be staring at in awe. As is it, he’s barely able to register the fact that it’s made out of wood before his hand is reaching out to fling open the door.<br/><br/>“Remember,” T’Pol murmurs, halting his movement momentarily, “the srindils take any deception, however minor, as a sign of untrustworthiness. No matter what the question, answer honestly.”</p><p>Archer nods, making eye contact with Hoshi and Phlox to make sure they understand as well, before turning back to the door and opening it.</p><p>The inside is dimly lit, only a few yellow-orange lanterns strung about, but there’s enough light to make out the srindils – almost ethereally pale beings that look like if a human had been... <em>stretched</em>. Their limbs are long and thin, knuckles resting on the floor not because of their slightly hunched posture, but due to the sheer length of their arms. Their torsos are also long and thin, with narrow, similarly elongated heads that turn slowly to face the landing party; their completely white eyes unblinking as they take them in. There are about three in the main part of the room, but Archer catches others hovering just out of sight, obscured by the shadows, in his peripheral vision; explaining why the andorians haven’t tried to make a break for it.</p><p>His gaze shifts to the bound forms of several andorians, eyes searching, taking on an almost frantic edge until he sees –</p><p>Shran’s eyes meet his and it feels like he can breathe for the first time since he heard about this whole damn mess. The man is bound like the rest of his crew, but appears no worse for wear, save for a rather nasty looking cut on his cheek. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t look thrilled to see Archer, or the others, fists clenched into that now-familiar white-knuckled grip. He glares at Archer like he’s somehow responsible for this whole thing, and not there at the behest of both their governments to try and solve it.</p><p>Before Archer can move past his relief to frustration at that though, one of the beings in the centre of the room begins to speak. Its voice, if it can even be called that, is a soft chittering that makes Archer's teeth ache; ravaging the nerves at the base of his spine. At first, it's nonsensical, a jumble of hissed sibilants and syllables that mean nothing, but after a few more seconds of rapid button pressing on Hoshi's part, the UT finally kicks in.</p><p>“<em>Humans.</em>” One of three srindils in the main part of the room begins to move, knuckles dragging across the floor as it glides towards them. “<em>Which one of you is the one they call, Archer?</em>”</p><p>“I am.” Archer steps forward, keeping head up, trying to meet the being’s gaze with his own; but the lack of an iris and pupil makes it hard to tell if he succeeds. “Captain Jonathan Archer, U.S.S. <em>Enterprise</em>. To whom am I speaking?”</p><p>“<em>I am Tral’vek.</em>” The srindil responds, and the sibilant emphasis on the 't' sends another wave of discomfort along Archer’s nerves – not unlike the feeling you get when you hear the screech of nails down a chalkboard. “<em>You have come to retrieve the andorians?” </em></p><p>“That’s correct.” Archer gestures to Phlox, who steps into place him, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like my doctor to examine them – ”</p><p>“<em>What do you offer for them?</em>” Another srindil interrupts, stepping forward to join the first.</p><p>“An explanation.” Archer gestures for T’Pol to come step forward. “I believe this is all the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding – ”</p><p>“<em>There is no misunderstanding,</em>” Tral’vek snarls, somehow moving between blinks from standing across the room to mere millimetres away from Archer, the agitated hisses of the others echoing throughout the cavernous room, “<em>the blue-skins attempted to deceive us, to take through subterfuge what we would have willingly offered.</em>” The srindril draws itself up to its full height, towering several inches above Archer. “<em>We have been most lenient in our response.</em>”</p><p>“I’m sure you have,” Archer says, never breaking eye contact despite the quick motion he makes with his hand to stop Hoshi drawing her phaser, “my first officer tells me that your people value justice and fairness as much as you value honesty. All of which are very honourable traits, which is why I know you’ll want to view the evidence we’ve gathered that suggest you may have been mistaken.”</p><p>Tral’vek’s eyes narrow, and the agitated hissing increases for a brief moment, before it makes a quick movement with its hands and the chatter ceases instantly.</p><p>“<em>We will hear your evidence</em>.”</p><p>Archer nods, “Thank-you,” and T’Pol steps into place beside him with her portable scanner.</p><p>“Am I correct in my understanding that your species possesses the ability to detect deceitfulness in others through the use of certain chemical signatures produced by the body when an individual is attempting to lie?”</p><p>Tral’vek meets T’Pol’s eyes, but it holds its position in front of Archer; something that the Captain knows unsettles the rest of the landing party given by the tight look he can see on Phlox and Hoshi’s face out of his peripheral vision.</p><p>“<em>You are correct</em>.”</p><p>“And am I also correct in that this is your first in-person meeting with the andorians?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” Tral’vek makes a slight tilting motion of its head that might translate to a Terran nod, an air of impatience in its next words. “<em>Is this your evidence?</em>”</p><p>In response, T’Pol extends her scanner out for him to take. “I think you’ll find that andorians don’t have the same biological tells that you’re used to, and as it turns out, neither do several other races.”</p><p>Tral’vek takes the scanner from her hand cautiously, its hands reaching up from the ground to curl long, thin fingers around the device and examine it more closely. Archer tries not to hold his breath as they wait for it to reach a conclusion, focusing on keeping steady inhales and exhales and fighting back the desire to seek out Shran’s form once again. Just to confirm that he was still there, that they hadn’t spirited him away while his attention was diverted.</p><p>He just about manages to do it, save for one quick glance in the direction of the hostages to confirm that there are still the same number of them that there were when they came in, when Tral’vek hands the device back to T’Pol.</p><p>“<em>Your device says that none of your three species have these ‘tells’ either</em>,” Tral’vek says, and though there is some suspicion in its voice, most of that hostility before has faded into something tamer, “<em>how do we know you also do not attempt to deceive us?</em>”</p><p>“You don’t.” T’Pol replies easily. “But I am willing to submit to the <em>Teh’veah </em>in order to set your minds at ease.”</p><p>There is a slight ripple that echoes through the other Srindils, and Archer is almost positive that Tral’vek looks... <em>impressed</em> by T’Pol’s offer.</p><p>“<em>You know of the Teh’veah?</em>”</p><p>“My people visited your world several centuries ago,” T’Pol replies, “I understand the process is not dissimilar to a practice on my planet known as a ‘mind-meld’.”</p><p>Tral’vek appears to mull this over for a minute, its eyes boring into hers, before it turns its gaze back to Archer.</p><p>“<em>What of you, Archer? Would you be willing to submit to the Teh’veah?</em>”</p><p>T’Pol tenses beside him, just that familiar minute amount. “The Captain is not – ”</p><p>“Yes.” Archer replies easily, practically feeling Phlox’s eyes burning into his back in silent indignation.</p><p>“Captain, I must object – ”</p><p>Or maybe not so silent then.</p><p>It hardly matters, in the end, because before Phlox can finish his protest, Tral’vek has plunged its hand into Archer’s chest.</p><p>“<em>Archer!</em>”</p><p>The ragged, torn out scream floods his ears as the force of Tral’vek’s hand nearly makes him stumble backwards; held in place only by the thin fingers of Tral’vek’s other hand clutching the back of his neck. A gasp slips unbidden past his lips, eyes widening at the feeling of those thin, long fingers curled around his heart.</p><p>Distantly, he’s aware of Phlox’s voice, raised and sharp behind him, before being forced into silence by T’Pol’s steady, though more than slightly uneven, one. And in front of him, someone continues to shout his name with a desperateness that continues even after they’ve been tackled to the ground, furiously lashing out at the dark shadows swarming forward to hold them down. T’Pol is shouting too now, raising her voice to try and calm the fighter, but Archer’s attention is pulled from the scene and trapped by the rush of sensations passing through his body – too much and far too many to ever make sense of – and the briefest flashes of memories that dance before his mind’s eye in a dizzying slideshow that makes him more and more nauseas by the second. It’s like his whole life is playing out in front of him, every feeling, every desire that he’s ever had put on display for himself and this... <em>other</em> to see. It’s like being flayed open from the inside out, and he struggles against the desire to tear away from it, to run and flee and hide; to tuck everything that he was and is back into himself. And throughout it all, as Archer shakes beneath it, the other examines it all with a hunger that makes Archer’s teeth ache; devouring every last piece of him.</p><p><em>You are... intriguing</em>.</p><p>He tries to say something back, to respond, but he’s pretty sure all he manages is a small, pathetic sound that he hopes to hell didn’t actually slip past his lips.</p><p>
  <em>You feel... so much.</em>
</p><p>He sees himself laughing with Trip, giving T’Pol a soft, knowing smirk, teasing Malcolm about loosening up some more, trading books with Hoshi, giving Travis encouraging smiles and trying not to feel like a proud father whenever the navigator turns around with a broad grin after a particularly impressive flying maneuver, pretending to grumble about being fussed over as Phlox stiches him up yet again, cuddling and playing with Porthos –</p><p>
  <em>So... so much.</em>
</p><p>He sees Shran smiling at him from across a table, pouring another glass of andorian ale, the sharp sting of betrayal as a rendezvous isn’t met and again as a silver blade cuts through his flesh, the coolness of hands against his forehead, the gentleness of guiding him carefully across the room in steady, even steps, the heat that grips him as hungry cool lips met his warm ones, the same heat that grips him late at night, mind caught up in fantasies that will never be, too-warm hands tracing down his body and clumsily wringing out momentary pleasure to combat the bitter loneliness that corrodes him from the inside out –</p><p><em>Please. </em>At this point, Archer doesn’t care if he says the words out loud or not, desperate for it to just <em>Stop. Please</em>.</p><p>And in an instant, it’s over, the fingers around his heart retreat, and he’s left trying to remember how to breathe; the hand on the back of his neck the only thing keeping him on his feet.</p><p>“<em>We accept your evidence.</em>” Tral’vek says, and its voice is far, far too loud for Archer to contend with, another tidal wave of nausea rushing forth and threatening to drown him. “<em>The blue-skins are free to go, our apologies for the... misunderstanding.</em>”</p><p>Archer knows he should say something, some small formal one-liner of gratitude, but he feels like if he opens his mouth right now, he might throw up all over Tral’vek and that would just create a whole other diplomatic incident.</p><p>“If you’re quite satisfied,” Phlox’s appears at his left shoulder, voice quite a bit deal more firm that it should really be in such a tenuous diplomatic encounter, “I need to see to the Captain.”</p><p>“<em>He is uninjured</em>.” Tral’vek says, its fingers still curled around Archer’s neck and Archer is close to begging it to let him go.</p><p>“If you don’t mind, I’ll be the judge of that.” Phlox returns evenly, and after a few minutes of pointed silence, Archer feels the fingers uncurl from the back of his neck and his slumps backwards into Phlox’s waiting arms.</p><p>“Captain?” Phlox lowers him carefully down, the cool earthen floor meeting his back, before shining a bright light in both his eyes that makes him wince. “Captain Archer, can you hear me?”</p><p>Archer still can’t bring himself to open his mouth and focusing on any one face is an effort in futility, so he tries to tap his hand against the floor, unsure whether or not he manages to succeed.</p><p>“Hoshi, if you wouldn’t mind seeing to the andorians? Commander?” Phlox calls, head turning to follow Hoshi’s darting figure to where the andorians had been held, “I require your assistance over here.”</p><p>“I am unsure if I can relocate my presence without an incident of violence taking place.” T’Pol calls back, but her voice has that slight familiar waver which tells Archer that she’s not as cool and collected as she may appear.</p><p>“You’d rather Archer die then these... <em>things</em> experience a little retribution?” Shran’s voice snarls back, and another wave of nausea rolls through Archer at the thought that Tral’vek knows exactly what hearing that voice does to him.</p><p>“If the retribution you are seeking occurs, then the Captain will have been put in his current state for nothing.” T’Pol’s voice is razor sharp and ordinarily Archer would have to check the impulse to search himself to make sure he isn’t bleeding from it. “If you truly care about the Captain’s state of being, you will stand down and allow me to leave you and tend to him.”</p><p>Shran’s reply comes out low, and quiet, enough so that Archer can’t make it out.</p><p>“Fascinating as this conversation is,” Phlox interjects, voice just as sharp, if not more, as T’Pol’s had been, “Commander, I require your assistance with the Captain, <em>now</em>. If you are reluctant to leave your charge, might I suggest <em>bringing him with you</em>?”</p><p>There is a beat of strained silence before two sets of footsteps quickly make their way over to Archer and Phlox, and a second later T’Pol’s face appears in Archer’s line of vision as well.</p><p>“He appears to be suffering some kind of neurological imbalance,” Phlox tells her, “I was hoping that you might be able to remedy it somehow, given your studies of the vulcan mind meld.”</p><p>And the thought of someone else peering into him, of tearing through the flimsy barriers he’s just barely managed to put back into place, has him desperately shaking his head, furiously intensifying the nausea, but despite that still attempting to sit up and push past them and away, far, far away from it all.</p><p>“Captain, Captain!” Phlox’s voice accompanies the feeling of T’Pol’s hands, because it must be her, what other person could hold him down with such little effort, pushing against his shoulders and keeping him pinned to the ground. “Captain, you must remain calm and still, you need to rest and allow T’Pol to heal you – ”</p><p>“I don’t believe that is the current issue, Doctor.” T’Pol interrupts, before catching and holding Archer's gaze with her own. “Captain, the meld I initiate with you will be an extremely shallow one, just enough to remedy your neurological functioning. I assure you; I will see nothing of your inner psyche.”</p><p>It’s pathetic just how quickly that calms him, has him staring into her eyes for confirmation of the firm conviction he hears in her voice. And when he finds it there, he makes himself nod, ever so slightly, keeping eye contact with her while her left-hand shifts from his shoulder to his face, pressing her fingertips into the meld points there.</p><p>He feels her presence within his mind, but true to her word it’s brief, fleeting; like a soft breeze on a summer day. Nothing like the cavernous beast that rent him asunder from the inside out, greedily gobbling up every last bit of him in a fury of sensation and sound.</p><p>It is far briefer as well, her fingers on his face for only a moment or so before they are withdrawing, taking with them the nausea and overwhelming rush of... everything. And for the first time in what feels like forever he takes in a steady inhale and exhale, slowly pushing himself up with the support of Phlox.</p><p>“How are you feeling?”</p><p>Archer forces a smile to his face, finally brining himself to meet Phlox’s eyes, “Better,” before turning back to T’Pol and offering her a quiet, “thank-you.”</p><p>She nods, and after a few more runs of Phlox’s scanner, she helps pull him back to his feet and face to face with Shran. The andorian’s lips are pressed into a thin line, and his gaze is anything but friendly, more akin to the glacial waters of his home planet.</p><p>Archer manages to keep his smile on his own face, but just barely. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”</p><p>“We needn’t have met at all.” Shran snaps, throwing all of Archer’s casual familiarity right back in his face. “We would have overcome our situation without your <em>help</em>.”</p><p>It’s stings like a sharp slap against already red raw skin, and Archer barely stops himself from snapping right back. Instead, however, he closes his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils before opening them and shifting his gaze to Tral’vek, who has been watching this whole scene play out in silence for the past few minutes. “Thank you for your co-operation in resolving the situation.”</p><p>“<em>Your efforts are appreciated as well</em>.” Tral’vek replies, inclining its head respectfully towards Archer. “<em>Should you or any of your people desire to visit our planet or engage in the Teh'vea, we will welcome you.”</em></p><p>Archer tries not to think about any of his crew undergoing what he had just been through – if Tral’vek had insisted on any one of them instead of Archer – if he had simply accepted T’Pol’s offer – the thought makes him sick to his stomach. If a human can barely stand the experience of being so thoroughly... <em>viewed</em>, he can’t imagine how a vulcan would react to the experience.</p><p>“We’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Archer turns back to his crew. “T’Pol, you and Hoshi will beam back aboard Enterprise. Phlox, I want you to accompany the andorians back to their ship and assist their doctor in examining their landing party.”</p><p>Finally, he returns his gaze to Shran, arching an eyebrow slightly. “I suppose you and I should have a talk about what just happened. Would you like to meet aboard <em>Enterprise</em> or <em>Zletha</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Zletha</em>.” Shran doesn’t hesitate in responding. “I will accompany you to – ”</p><p>“<em>You</em> will accompany me and the rest of your landing party to your ship’s infirmary,” Phlox interjects firmly, catching Shran’s frigid gaze and most likely his ire, “and after you’ve been given a clean bill of health, you’re welcome to go wherever you’d like.”  </p><p>Shran attempts to stare Phlox down, but as ever, the doctor is immovable, and eventually he relents, returning his gaze to Archer. “I will have one of my uninjured officers escort you to my quarters.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan,” Archer nods, gesturing towards the rest of the andorians. “Ready when you are.”</p><p>Shran’s first officer steps into place beside him, and Archer struggles not to start at the fact that he seemingly appeared from nowhere, wondering if maybe T’Pol missed a neurological imbalance somewhere. The officer places a communication device in Shran’s hands, likely just given back by the srindils, and Shran gestures impatiently for Phlox and Archer to step closer.</p><p>“This is Captain Shran to the Zletha,” Shran speaks into the receiver, but his eyes never leave Archer’s face, “four to beam up.”</p><p>Archer meets his gaze, holding it even when they begin to break apart into billions of golden particles.</p><hr/><p>“How can Shran treat the captain like that?”</p><p>They’ve been back on the Enterprise for approximately 5.34 seconds before Ens. Sato finally gives voice to what her face has been silently screaming for the past ten minutes.</p><p>T’Pol takes a moment to admonish herself for the rather fantastical metaphor, blaming it on her continued association with Trip, before turning to Ens. Sato and raising her eyebrow slightly. “I assume you are referring to the apparent lack of gratitude Captain Shran demonstrated?”</p><p>“That’s one word for it.” Ens. Sato snorts, shaking her head as the two of them make their way down the hallways and back to their stations. “I mean, we came because the andorian government requested we intervene on their behalf; and yet Shran acts like we’re just... <em>meddling</em>.” Ens. Sato lets out a deep exhale, shaking her head. “It’s just... it’s infuriating!”</p><p>“Not all species relate their feelings in a similar way,” T’Pol says, pressing the button to call the turbolift, “it is possible that Captain Shran’s reaction is considered a show of companionship and respect among his people – ”</p><p>“With all due respect, Commander, that’s bullshit and we both know it.”</p><p>T’Pol meets Ens. Sato’s gaze, stopping the turbolift mid transit. “Allow me to rephrase; not all species, indeed, not all terrans, showcase the same emotional responses to specific situations. For instance, watching as harm occurs to one they care for.”</p><p>Ens. Sato merely blinks at her for a moment, before the confusion gradually drains away from her face – to her credit, she manages to parse what T’Pol is really saying far before any other crew member could have, likely to her vast genius in the area of communication. “Oh.”</p><p>“Indeed.” T’Pol starts the turbolift again, and the two of them continue their ride to the bridge in silence.</p><p>As they do so, T’Pol sees Shran in her mind’s eye, lashing out in a frenzied rage, shouting the Captain’s name as he attempts to shake the srindils off him, recalls the effort it had taken for her to subdue him, even though she possesses far superior strength. The glacial fury in his cold eyes as he spoke, low and quiet so that only her ears could perceive his words.</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t, <strong>ever</strong>, suggest I don’t care for him.”</em>
</p><p>The doors of the turbolift open and T’Pol ends her reverie, stepping onto the bridge and back into her role as first officer; attempting to put all thoughts of the Captain and Shran out of her mind.</p><p>After some time has passed, Trip places a mug of tea beside her station, pausing to exchange a look with her that communicates far more than words ever could, offering his two fingers to her. </p><p>She presses her own against them, taking a brief moment to let the steady press of Trip's mind against her own centre her, before withdrawing; sipping her tea and trying to return to her work. </p><p>But despite her best efforts, she can’t help the impatient itch that tugs at her psyche each minute that passes until the Captain’s return. The sensation is not dissimilar to the one she had experienced on the surface, watching the Captain undergo the Teh’vea and having to check her own, base emotional urge to release Shran and join him in his carnage. To utterly devastate anyone and anything that caused harm to her Captain, to her crew.</p><p>To her family. </p><hr/><p><br/>The andorian officer that leads him to Shran’s quarters looks fairly young, maybe about Travis’ age, and Archer wonders if that’s why he wasn’t a part of the landing party. But he decides about a minute in that if anything got him left behind, it’s his nervous chattering.</p><p>He talks about anything and everything, running through topics at such a speed that Archer doesn’t think he could keep up with him if he tried. Instead, he settles for smiles and nods at what he thinks are the appropriate times, with the odd interested noise chucked in there for good measure.</p><p>They arrive at Shran’s quarters and the officer quickly keys in the code Shran gave him before he was bustled off to the infirmary by Phlox and the <em>Zletha</em>’s medic. The door slides open and the officer gestures for Archer to enter while studiously avoiding peering into the room. Archer steps through into the room, turning forward about five steps in to thank the officer, only to find that the door has already slid shut behind him.</p><p>The sudden silence is almost deafening compared to the chatter from before, and Archer busies himself with glancing around the room in an effort to distract himself from it. It's spartan, as crew quarters go, with the standard bed and desk combination that Archer has, albeit with a slightly different layout. The bed appears to be fairly luxurious, and Archer barely resists the temptation to sink down onto it as he waits for Shran to arrive, instead moving over to peer closer at his desk. There is a viewscreen and a data PADD, but Archer steers clear of them, no more eager to be accused of espionage than he is to accidentally break them somehow. Apart from that, the desk is just as spartan as the rest of the living quarters, no picture frames or mementos to mark Shran’s travels. Nothing.</p><p>It makes the place feel... lonely.</p><p>Archer taps the desk, feeling the gentle brush of the smooth wood against his fingertips, wondering how else to pass the time when he hears the door slide open behind him and he turns to see Shran step into the room.<br/><br/>“Finally,” He greets, offering a crooked smile, “I was beginning to think there might really be something wrong with you.”</p><p>Rather than offering a similar teasing jibe, however, Shran simply stares at him, an incredulous look on his face and something close to... disgust in his eyes.</p><p>Archer lets the smile slip into something more neutral, holding Shran’s gaze evenly, tilting his chin upward slightly to show how far from intimidated he is. “It seems like there’s something you want to say to me.”</p><p>“Oh, there are several things I would like to say to you, Captain,” Shran says lowly, crossing the room to Archer. “For instance, what gives you the right to insert yourself into official Imperial Guard business?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “The sheer gall – ”</p><p>“If I had to guess, I’d say it was the official request for assistance that Starfleet received from your Imperial Guard,” Archer cuts him off, shrugging slightly, “but I suppose they could have been referring to another Andorian crew kidnapped during a first contact negotiation.”</p><p>“This is not a <em>joke</em>,” Shran hisses.</p><p>“Do you see me laughing?” Archer returns evenly.</p><p>“I had the situation fully in hand,” Shran continues as though Archer hadn’t spoken, “the only thing your help has accomplished, is to undermine my authority and ability in the eyes of my crew. Something that I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate were I to attempt to return the favour.”</p><p>“Look,” Archer steps around Shran, “it wasn’t my intention to make you look bad in front of your crew; like I said, your government reached out to mine for assistance. Maybe next time, make sure to let the Imperial Guard know you’ll be fine on your own – ”</p><p>“Typical terran,” Shran snarls, stalling Archer’s advance towards his door, “refusing to accept responsibility for the consequences of your actions – ”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> not taking responsibility for my actions?” Archer snaps back, turning to face Shran once again. “Thanks to you, I had to haul my ship and my crew <em>light years</em> off course to rescue your sorry ass - ”</p><p>Shran grits his teeth. “I didn’t ask for your help.”</p><p>“Well, too bad.” Archer can feel his temper flaring out of his grip, but he is steadily losing the ability and the desire to bring it back under control. “You got it, and I can’t take it back. So, throw a tantrum about it all you want, it's not going to change anything.”</p><p>“You have no concept of what you’ve done, do you?” Shran paces in front of his bed, “No idea the degree of damage to my pride, my honour – ”</p><p>Archer startles himself with the dry laugh that bounces off the walls of Shran’s quarters and echoes loudly in his ears. “Of course, that’s what it always comes back to, isn’t it? Your precious andorian honour.”</p><p>“If there’s something you want to say to me, spit it out,” Shran snaps, “don’t talk in riddles like some ancient Vulcan.”</p><p>“And risk insulting your honour further?” Archer shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I will; after all, I have no desire to end up under your Ushaan-tor again.”</p><p>Shran goes still, silence blanketing the two of them and turning the turbulent, volatile atmosphere into something more stilted, and difficult to breath through. “I thought that the two of us had put that behind us.”</p><p>“Here’s a fun fact about humans for you,” Archer tries to keep his voice steady, even as his scars begin their familiar phantom burn, “humans don’t generally ‘<em>put it behind</em> <em>them</em>’ when someone tries to kill them. Especially when that person claimed to be a friend.”</p><p>“It was – ”</p><p>“An affair of honour, I know. For your ship, for your crew – ” Archer takes a deep breath, “ – for Talas. It still doesn’t change the fact that you would have killed me, and you wouldn’t have regretted it one bit.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” Shran says, and for the first time since he entered the room, his voice holds something altogether <em>other </em>than frustration.</p><p>“Maybe not,” Archer concedes, “but I do know the only reason I’m alive right now is because T’Pol, Hoshi and Travis did everything in their power to find a way to save me. Which is more than can be said for you.”</p><p>Another beat of silence fills the room, and Archer waits for Shran to argue back, to fire off some retort that Archer has no idea what he’s talking about, that he has no understanding of Andorian culture and what an honour it would have been to die beneath an Imperial Guardsman’s blade – to have his blood taken to stain a monument on a frigid planet.</p><p>Instead, Shran says quietly, “You think I didn’t have a plan to save you?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t, and I still don’t.” Archer feels like somehow, he’s stolen all the rage that Shran possessed only moments ago, burning alive from the inside out as he finally lets what’s been simmering within him for months now past his lips. “All you could talk about was how you were going to <em>honour me</em> after you had slit my throat; you didn’t even try all that hard to convince me not to take part – ”</p><p>“Because I know you.” Shran steps forward, that rage back and howling just as cold and brutal as before, “And I know how damn... <em>stubborn</em> you are; how there’s no changing your mind once it’s set on something, and I didn’t see the point in wasting my breath.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk,” Archer fires back, “at least <em>I</em> tried to get your to see reason, to call off the whole damn thing – ”</p><p>“If I had, I would never have commanded a waste vessel, let alone an Imperial battleship, ever again!” Shran snaps. “And not only would my career have been decimated, but you would have been left alone, without a single ally in this whole accursed universe.”</p><p>“You’re forgetting the vulcans and the tellarites – ”</p><p>“No, I am not.” Shran takes another step forward, so that there’s barely any space left between the two of them anymore. “You and I both know that neither the vulcans, nor the tellerites will do anything that won’t serve their own interests.”</p><p>“But you will?” Archer asks, not making any effort to hide his disbelief.</p><p>“Protecting those I care for <em>is</em> one my interests.” Shran says, holding Archer’s gaze with his own. “From the minute – the <em>second</em> I realized what your intentions were, I had a plan to incapacitate you in a manner that would cause no lasting harm and maintain my honour and dignity in the eyes of my crew.”</p><p>“You really expect me to believe that?” Archer shakes his head, refusing to get caught up on the implications of <em>those I care for</em>, turning and heading towards the door. “We’re done here – ”</p><p>“Jonathan.”</p><p>Shran’s hand catches his elbow, turning him back to face him and holding him in place, and in his eyes is a conviction that pulls on something deep within Archer. “I swear to you, on my honour, on my <em>life</em>, that I would tear this – any – <em>every </em>universe apart if it meant saving you.”</p><p>Archer’s mouth is dry, and he struggles to swallow down the emotions caught up in a thick tangled lump in his throat, unable to move his eyes from Shran’s.</p><p>“So what?” Archer eventually manages, his voice far softer than it was before, “You expect me to let you move worlds for me and then just sit on my hands whenever you’re the one in danger? That’s not how it works.”</p><p>Shran’s jaw tightens, “There’s a fundamental difference between you and I, Jonathan. I decimate anything that so much looks at what I love the wrong way. You, you offer yourself in its place.”</p><p>“That’s not true – ” Archer begins to say, <em>what I love</em> echoing loudly through his mind.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but which one of us let a hostile being shove its hand inside their chest?” Shran’s voice wavers slightly on the last few words, finally breaking Archer’s gaze to stare at cabin wall opposite them, the flare of his nostrils indicating the deep breaths he’s taking to try and steady himself.</p><p>“T’Pol told me about the Teh'vea beforehand,” Archer says, but his voice is gentle, almost soothing, “I knew what it entailed, and that the risks were minimal – ”</p><p>“But you admit there were risks.”</p><p>Archer takes him in for a moment in silence, the set of his eyebrows, the tightness of his face, the heavily guarded nature of his eyes, still seemingly focused on that wall and not Archer, and the hand that still hasn’t let go of Archer’s arm.</p><p>“You were worried.”</p><p>Shran meets his eyes again, and Archer braces himself for the denials, for that sudden surge of rage again.</p><p>But instead Shran’s eyes shine with a ragged, wild desperation that’s echoed in his voice, hoarse and low, barely above a whisper.</p><p>“I thought it had killed you.”</p><p>In his mind, Archer hears the guttural yell torn raw from an aching throat, sees the fury on Shran’s face as he tries to tear apart anyone and everyone that gets near him, that tries to stop his path to where his loved one is having their heart ripped from their chest, the all-consuming rage rushing forth like blood from the head wound of his grief – the deep laceration of loss cutting through his very being.</p><p>He reaches out with his hand, taking Shran’s free one and placing it on his chest, holding it gently directly over his heart. “It didn’t.”</p><p>Shran holds his gaze for a moment before letting his eyes fall to where their hands rest together, spending a few minutes of silence just feeling Archer’s heartbeat underneath his palm.</p><p>Eventually, he shifts his hand, and Archer lets his own fall away so that Shran can take it back; but instead of drawing away, Shran steps forward, sliding his arms around Archer and holding him close, resting his head on the left side of his chest, as though still trying to listen to the sound of his heartbeat.</p><p>Archer hesitates a moment, before carefully wrapping his arms around Shran as well, just as tight and secure – the two of them, standing there, just holding one another close. Each one giving the other proof that they are there, and together, and alive.</p><p>Gradually, Shran’s breaths even out, and a careful glance down reveals what Archer had suspected; the andorian lost to sleep, the events of the past few hours finally catching up with him.</p><p>Carefully, so as not to wake him, though given the nature of the dead sleep that he appears to be in a part of Archer suspects he’d have to be making a hell of a lot more ruckus that one person could ever manage on their own, he moves Shran over to his bed. He places him down atop the mattress, stepping backwards afterwards to make sure he hadn’t woken up in the move, a soft smile curling his lips at the peaceful look on his face.</p><p>He considers staying until Shran wakes up, asking him what he meant when he called Archer one of the things he cared for,<em> loved</em>, even. Imagines the answer being the same one he keeps locked away in his own heart, of laughing at their foolishness together and pressing their lips together as tears of relief gather in his eyes.</p><p>But then he thinks of what would come after, the inevitable stumbling blocks sure to send whatever brief joy they have crashing to the ground in a brilliant blaze of glory. And he knows that he’s right not to stay, right to leave Shran sleeping peacefully and beam back aboard the Enterprise for his own crew’s debriefing.</p><p>He just wishes his heart thought so too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, so it's been a while. Sorry for that. Hope you enjoy the ending!<br/>I updated the tags for this chapter, so mind them before you go.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Archer has spent the past few days dreading the sound of an incoming message.</p><p>The review committee is overdue with their decision regarding Admiral Gardner’s competency, having extended the review period to ‘engage in a more robust investigation’ and Archer has had to stop himself from jumping out of his skin every time the computer lets out that tell-tale trill.</p><p>So, when he hesitantly accepts the latest incoming transmission and Ambassador Soval flickers into view, he damn near passes out with relief.</p><p>“Ambassador,” He greets, smiling widely at the Vulcan, “what can I do for you?”</p><p>“Captain.” Soval gazes down at the PADD resting on his desk, “I was just examining our flight paths and was struck with the realization that our ships will be passing by one another within the next twenty-four hours. Logically, I concluded this would be an optimal opportunity for us to discuss potential future joint endeavours between Earth and Vulcan. Therefore, I would like to invite you to dinner aboard my ship at approximately 0800 hours tomorrow.”</p><p>Archer blinks, confused. Joint endeavours between Earth and Vulcan have been suspended indefinitely following the recovery of Surak and the Kir’shara as Vulcan focuses its efforts planet-side, so for this offer to come out of the blue, or rather, the black expanse of space, is... something that Archer is completely unprepared for. Just the the fact that Soval is even <em>on</em> a ship, rather than working with T’Pau to continue re-organizing the doctrines and overall structures of Vulcan, is a surprise.</p><p>“That... I would be delighted, Ambassador.”</p><p>Soval nods, “I will instruct our chef to begin preparing immediately. And, seeing as we are about to share a meal together, Captain, it seems only logical that you address me simply as Soval, rather than with my title of Ambassador.”</p><p>“Right.” Archer is starting to feel more than a bit lost, as though he’s somehow slipped between dimensions into whatever new reality Soval seems to be operating within. “In that case, feel free to call me Archer.”</p><p>“I will do so.” Soval raises his hand in the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, Archer.”</p><p>Archer returns the gesture. “Peace and long life... Soval.”</p><p>The name feels awkward on his tongue without its usual honorific and relief sweeps through him yet again when Soval cuts the transmission without another word. He considers spending the next few minutes, more likely hours, trying to figure out what just happened, but eventually the heaviness of his eyelids wins out over his curiosity and he crawls into bed instead. Porthos giving a low rumble of approval from where he’s curled up on his own dog bed before falling back into the land of doggie dreams.</p><p>Despite his own fatigue, the curiosity threatens to keep Archer up for a moment or two more before he banishes it to the back of his mind. Whatever it is that Soval wants to talk to him about, it won’t be anything that he hasn’t dealt with before.</p><hr/><p>Archer’s fork hits the plate with an awful clang, making him wince and Soval’s mouth briefly twist downwards. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”</p><p>“I am assuming you are employing the use of a rhetorical question to illustrate your disbelief over the matter,” Soval says dryly, pouring himself another cup of tea. “So, I will rephrase what I have said rather than repeating it. For approximately the next 60.38 days, I propose that you and I engage in a courtship of sorts. It will be a traditional Vulcan courtship, of course, and as such will compose of letters exchanged and gifts received by you, the one being courted – ”</p><p>“Just – ” Archer holds up a hand to stop Soval, rubbing the other hand over his face, “Just wait a second. Not literally, I mean, just – ” Archer gives Soval a very bewildered look, “I don’t understand. Why do we have to pretend to be dating in order for me to accompany you to this ball or gala or whatever – ”</p><p>“The Pastaklan Tapan,” Soval reminds him, taking a sip of his tea.</p><p>“Right, that.” Archer shakes his head slightly. “Why can’t I just accompany you as a friend? Or, if you’d prefer, a colleague? Why do I have to go as your partner?”</p><p>Soval raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I would do this if any such option existed? You are an attractive man, Captain, but I suspect you may be thinking too highly of yourself at this moment.” And before Archer can even begin to respond to <em>that</em>, Soval continues, “As you are no doubt aware, Vulcan remains in a precarious state. The revelation that the practices and ideals we hold most sacred, most Vulcan, have led us astray from the path Surak set out for us, is not one that most Vulcans relish. Even those who submit to the logic of the situation do so with great consternation. And those are the few; the majority refuses to believe that we could have been so wrong for so long. The Pastaklan Tapan is to be the first meeting of what I suspect will be a rather lengthy diplomatic process of establishing an alliance between vulcans, terrans, andorians, and tellerites. As well, it is the first galactic undertaking by our new administration; thus, the probability of it being sabotaged by those who would rather we revert to our old ways is high. Too high to ignore.”</p><p>“None of which explains why I can’t be there as your friend. Or as a member of the Earth delegation,” Archer points out.</p><p>“If you would allow me to continue?” Soval waits until Archer rolls his eyes and gestures for him to go on, “You remain a contentious figure on Vulcan. You housed the great mind of Surak for a period of time, and brought his teachings back to the people. This has earned you respect among my people; and ire. Were a member of this new administration to enter into a relationship of a romantic nature with you, I am certain those with that ire would be moved to action.”</p><p>Archer’s brow furrows. “Hang on, it sounds like you’re saying you <em>want</em> to provoke them.”  </p><p>“Correct.” Soval takes another sip of his tea. “A terrorist group is steadily emerging that refers to themselves as ‘Logic Extremists’”. Soval sets down his cup, and if Archer didn’t know better, he’d say the Vulcan was suppressing the urge to slam it onto the table. “An utterly illogical title. Logic is not a group of sehlats; it cannot be quantified or qualified, it simply <em>is</em>.”</p><p>“Might be the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about logic with that kind of tone,” Archer smirks, shaking his head slightly and taking a sip of his own tea. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your lover for a two months, all so you can incite some terrorists to attack a peace conference?”</p><p>“Better to deal with them before they become any more widespread.” Soval holds Archer’s gaze with his own. “You have my word that no harm shall come to you, Captain. Or any of the other delegates at the conference.”</p><p>Archer feels himself overcome with a sense of déjà vu, and a phantom ache in his back where a Luevenon bullet had torn through it. But his nose and throat remember the sharp sting of smoke and ash as he moved through the last place his friend and mentor had stood; looking for some crusade that the grief within him could fuel before it tore him apart from the inside out.</p><p>He sets his cup back down on the table as well. “I can’t attend the conference with you.”</p><p>“Captain – ”</p><p>“However,” Archer cuts Soval off before he can continue, “I will do my best to help you make me into a target for them to set in their sights. And once negotiations have finished, I will join you for the last night of the conference, and help you to create an opening for them to attack me and <em>only</em> me. I'm not letting anyone else get caught in the crossfire.”</p><p>Soval’s nostrils flare slightly in frustration. “Captain, I don’t think you realize – ”</p><p>“Those are my terms, Ambassador,” Archer cuts him off firmly, standing up from the table and throwing his napkin on his plate. “If I get my first love letter from you by tomorrow night, I’ll assume you’ve accepted them.” Archer turns his back and walks towards the door, turning back and inclining his head in slight bow once he reaches it.</p><p>“Thanks for dinner.”</p><p>He waits a moment for a response, but after seeing Soval’s face contort like he’s got a real bad case of indigestion, decides he’d rather not stick around for the vulcan to collect his emotions or his words, and heads back down to the docking bay.<br/><br/>T’Pol is waiting for him on <em>Enterprise</em>’s docking bay, hands folded behind her back and eyebrow already impressively arched. “Welcome back, Captain. How was your dinner?”</p><p>“It was...” Archer shakes his head with a tired sigh. “Something.”</p><p>He lets out another sigh, fighting back the urge to just go to his quarters and sleep for the next cycle of Sol, before fixing his gaze back on T’Pol. “I need you to join me in my ready room. There’s something we need to discuss.”</p><hr/><p>Bits of broken shrapnel lie scattered around the weapons training area, so much so that no matter how careful Phlox tries to be, he can’t help but crunching some of it beneath his feet as he walks.</p><p>Malcolm sits in the middle of it all, his phaser discarded to the side, relegated to the same level as the other pieces of plastic and metal debris that blanket the area.</p><p>“As I understand it,” Phlox begins, careful to keep his tone light as he continues to make his way to Malcolm, “phaser training usually leaves nothing behind – the blasts having essentially atomized the targets.”</p><p>“I lowered the settings.” Malcolm replies, his voice quiet, listless, “I wanted there to be some sort of – evidence that they’d been there. Some kind of fallout.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Stupid, really. All it’s done is make a mess of things.”</p><p>“Oh, nothing that a good broom couldn’t handle.” Phlox picks up the phaser carefully, powering it down and placing it back in its place before locking the armoury once more.</p><p>“I’ve never seen a broom get rid of scorch marks before.” Malcolm counters, still quiet, his eyes still not meeting Phlox’s.</p><p>Phlox crosses back over to him, shifting the debris until he can sit comfortably beside Malcolm. “Well, you’ve never had the chance to see a Denobulan broom in action – they can clean the nose right off of your face.”</p><p>“Rather attached to my nose, thanks,” Malcolm replies, still not entirely with Phlox in this moment; still somewhere else.</p><p>Phlox sits with him in silence, taking in the tired, far-away look in his eyes, the slight shake of his hands. “Would you like to talk about what it was that made you want to see some... evidence of destruction? To see that something had been broken? Been hurt?”</p><p>“Does there have to be a reason?” Malcolm asks. “Maybe I just wanted to revel in a little chaos. Besides, it’s rather hard to hurt a training drone – no nerve endings. And if it breaks, the system can just re-create a new one from the bits left behind – even just the atoms are enough.”</p><p>“True.” Phlox smiles gently at him. “But you aren’t exactly the type to <em>revel</em> in chaos, lieutenant.”</p><p>“I used to be.” Malcolm huffs out another humourless laugh. “Back when I was working with – ” Malcolm swallows thickly to clear his throat. “With <em>them</em>.”</p><p>Phlox pauses for a moment, considering his words carefully. “I assume you are referring to section 31?”<br/><br/>Malcolm nods. “When it first started, back when they were pulling me in with covert drop-offs and eavesdropping – enticing me with a juvenile version of spycraft that played on my inner boyhood fantasies – the chaos of it all was... fun. Exciting even. And then, just like that, suddenly they weren’t trying to induct me anymore. Suddenly, they were starting to <em>use</em> me and I – ”</p><p>Malcolm cuts himself off, and the shake in his hands becomes much more than slight.</p><p>He takes a deep, shuddering breath, shoulders hunching as though he’s attempting to disappear further into himself. “You have to be able to – you have to be able to say no. You just – they can’t make it so that there’s no – no escape – no <em>choice</em>. It’s not – ” He cuts himself off again, strangling a sob that tries to slip past his mouth.</p><p>“You have to be able to say no.”</p><p>Phlox watches him, taking in the tremor that has spread from his hands to his entire body, and the tears gathering in his eyes that steadily break free despite his attempts to keep them back. The desperate desire to hide his perceived weakness warring with the agony of being alone with it.</p><p>He reaches out, carefully taking one if those trembling hands in his own. Gently, so as to give him a choice.  </p><p>Malcolm doesn’t move for a moment, and Phlox almost takes the hand back, but then his fingers curl around it tightly; as though it’s a lifeline cast out into a roaring tempest.</p><p>“I imagine with everything that’s happened over the past few months, it must have brought a lot back for you.” Phlox says softly, his grip turning firm and solid and <em>there</em>.</p><p>Malcolm lets out another humourless laugh. “I thought – I was so sure that Starfleet was different from them. And now it turns out they’re no better; just a different version of the same old song.”</p><p>“Perhaps.” Phlox smiles at him. “But Captain Archer is not. In fact, I’m not even certain he’s in the same musical genre. He would never allow you to be placed in that kind of situation again – you are safe here.”</p><p>Malcolm shakes his head. “You can’t promise that – ”</p><p>“And yet, I am.” Phlox squeezes his hand once, and for the first time since he came in Malcolm raises his eyes from the floor to meet his. “I promise you, Malcolm, that I will do everything in my power to ensure you always have a choice. That you can always say no.”</p><p>Malcolm keeps his gaze, eyes red with all the tears he continues to shed, and as he starts to lean forward, Phlox shifts so that he can pull the man into a hug; resting his head against his shoulder.</p><p>Malcolm clings to him just as tightly as he had his hand, wrapping his arms around Phlox and clutching the material of his medical uniform in his hands; shaky inhales and exhales landing on the side of Phlox’s neck. “Thank you, doctor.”</p><p>“Please, Lieutenant,” Phlox gently strokes Malcolm’s hair as the man begins to let himself truly come apart in his arms, “thanks are unnecessary.”  </p><p>They sit there together for a while, among the remnants of all the sharp jagged things that Malcolm let loose; Phlox holding Malcolm until he is no longer trembling.</p><hr/><p><br/>The following night, Archer gets his first love letter from Soval, and the game begins.</p><p>There’s relatively little for him to do on his part, as apparently according to T’Pol the pursuer is the one who must offer gifts and tokens to gain their beau’s attentions and, ultimately, affections. All he really has to do is read and reply to the letters that Soval sends, and be seen wearing and/or using the gifts that he sends. Honestly, the whole thing doesn’t exactly sit right with him – he’s tried to make sure to give as much as he gets in all his previous relationships and the thought of just allowing himself to receive and receive without giving anything back makes his gut twist itself into knots.</p><p>It takes everything in his power not to say anything when T’Pol explains vulcan’s practice of arranged marriages. With women and I’fara, a role given to a person by a priest if they are part of an arrangement where their partner is the same sex, unable to end the arrangement unless they force their betrothed to fight someone else to the <em>death</em>. It seems beyond bizarre for such a seemingly advanced race to still hold people as property of another. He considers voicing this to her, but the look in her eyes tells him that she has already heard the argument a thousand times before and, if he didn’t know better, agrees with him.  </p><p>Still, it doesn’t come without its perks. One of which happens to be watching a particularly difficult tellerite Captain turn an interesting shade of puce when he catches sight of Archer’s vulcan crest collar pin. Archer tries not to put too much stock in believing that the mere sight of the crest was enough to get the man to stop pestering the <em>Enterprise</em> about interrupting their trade routes, but he makes a point to pin it to his collar before each and every bridge shift from that point on.</p><p>It’s fairly easy to chart a course that leads back to Vulcan just in time for the last day of the conference and soon, under the guise of needing some light repairs, the <em>Enterprise</em> is docked at Vulcan’s space station and Archer is trying his best not to pace a hole through the shuttlecraft floor.</p><p>“Is it your intention to unravel the robes that the Ambassador provided for you before even arriving at the conference?” T’Pol asks, jarring Archer out of his thoughts momentarily.</p><p>It takes him a moment to realize what she’s said, and when he does, he chuckles and retakes his seat; abandoning the stray thread he’d been playing with as he paced. The robes are a deep blue, clearly meant to mimic that of his Starfleet uniform, covered in intricate designs woven with fine, glimmering gold thread. Part of him wonders if Soval will ask him to either give it back or pay for it after this is all said and done.</p><p>“You have to admit, it would be quite an entrance. The head of the Vulcan diplomatic team’s lover showing up in nothing but a few loose threads.”</p><p>“Indeed,” T’Pol agrees. “Though I doubt whether that is the precise kind of entrance the Ambassador is hoping for.”</p><p>Archer chuckles again. “Fair enough. And I’m not exactly dying to show up to one of the most important events of the century buck naked. Wouldn’t exactly be a stellar first impression, would it?”</p><p>“I suspect not. Though there is always the possibility that some will be thrilled with your choice of attire, or lack thereof.” T’Pol flicks a few more switches in preparation for landing. “Speaking of which, Captain Shran is part of the andorian delegation, is he not?”</p><p>Archer tries very hard to look like he couldn’t care less. “Yeah, I think so. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“I am merely confirming that my data on the conference is correct.” There is a pause between T’Pol’s next words as she carefully begins slowing the shuttlecraft and decreasing its altitude. “I am curious as to what his opinion of this plan will be.”</p><p>Archer shrugs. “I doubt he’ll have one. It’s a vulcan problem, and you and I both know he’s never been that fond of vulcan.”</p><p>“The same, of course, cannot be said for you.”</p><p>Archer feels his heart skip a beat, throat going tight as he remembers the feel of Shran’s hands clutching him so desperately after the Teh'vea. “T’Pol, what are you – ”</p><p>
  <em>“Enterprise Shuttle-One, you are free to disembark.”</em>
</p><p>T’Pol disengages the control panel and moves to open the shuttle door, Archer quickly standing and arranging himself into at least something semi-respectable looking. The doors slide open just seconds after he thinks he’s managed it, and Soval’s eyes meet his.</p><p>“Tal-kam,” Soval greets as Archer steps out into the docking bay, “It pleases me to see you safe after such a long journey.”</p><p>Archer forces his face to relax into a small, gentle smile that uses his eyes more than his mouth. “And I, you, K’diwa.”</p><p>Soval turns to begin walking out of the docking bay. “Ashal-veh, Attend.”  </p><p>Archer inclines his head and moves to Soval’s side, barely biting down the instinctual response that he is a person, not a dog that can be called to heel. He has a cover to keep, after all. And besides, it would just feel like an insult to Porthos.</p><p>"Captain," T'Pol meets his gaze, and Archer could swear she's trying to send him some sort of psychic strength to help him get through this, "I will await your communique with the Enterprise later this evening." She offers the ta'al to Ambassader Soval and a nod to Archer before stepping back into the shuttlecraft, the door - and Archer's last chance for escape, closing behind her.</p><p>Archer swallows down the urge to bang on the door and demand she take him with her as Soval begins to walk forward, heading towards the reception steady, uniform, and yet graceful, steps that Archer struggles to match without tripping either his own feet or the damn robes.</p><p>“The reception will likely last into the early hours of the morning,” Soval tells him as they walk, “there is much to celebrate and, as you well know, andorian, tellerite and terran celebrations tend to involve long periods of feasting and drinking. As hosts, we will of course provide this. But if you grow tired, your room is through the great hall and at the end of the left hallway,” He gestures to one of the people following behind them, who inclines his head respectfully at Archer, “simply ask K’vara to lead you to it.”</p><p>“You are as considerate as ever, K’diwa,” Archer returns, his eyes catching Soval’s to confirm the elephant in the room. Archer making his way back to his quarters alone will be the perfect time for the Logic Extremists to strike. All they can hope is that his would-be assassin takes the bait. “I fear my travel has fatigued me; I may have to part from your presence earlier than I might have hoped.”</p><p>“Worry not, tal-kam,” Soval breaks the eye contact, turning forward once again, and Archer follows suit, “I will be sure to return to you once my duties for the evening have concluded.”</p><p>So that’s their plan established, now all Archer has to do is kill a couple hours at the reception until it’s time to put it into action.</p><p>Right before they enter the room, Soval takes Archer’s arm in his, giving a nod to the guards standing beside the doors leading into it, who quickly nod back. Archer barely has time to swallow before the doors are opening and he and Soval are gliding into the room, arm in arm.</p><p>There is a pause in conversation that is far too long to be polite, members of all the delegations looking over as the group enters the room – brows furrowing at the sight of Archer’s state of dress before becoming even more bewildered as they take in Soval’s arm linked with his. Soval ignores it, making his way towards the refreshments, and Archer does his best to follow suit; convincing himself that the itch between his shoulder blades is not due to a pair of blue eyes staring daggers into his back.</p><p>He can only imagine Shran’s face if he figures out what Soval and he are trying to insinuate – then again, it’s possible Shran hasn’t paid that much attention to vulcan social practices and won’t be able to tell the difference between overtures of friendship and overtures of a more romantic nature. He resists the urge to cross his fingers – what difference would it make? Shran likely wouldn’t and won’t care if it was either, other than to make some sort of biting comment about Archer’s low standards. And besides, the two of them had pulled the same ruse back on Leuvenon, albeit for different reasons, so it’s not as though he can find fault in their methods. He tries to blink away these thoughts as Soval unlinks their arms before gratefully accepting the glass of some bubbly, amber coloured liquid that Soval offers him. He sips it, desperately trying to hold back on the impulse to throw it all back in one go.</p><p>“You’re doing well,” Soval murmurs, Archer barely able to pick out the words, “I must perform my duties – I trust you will be fine here?”</p><p>Archer nods, and Soval inclines his head slightly before leaving to join a group of diplomats who all quickly try and look like they weren’t openly staring at the pair of them.</p><p>Archer watches him go before turning back to the table and reaching for another glass, barely managing to raise it to his lips before a familiar voice comes from behind him.</p><p>“Captain Archer?”</p><p>Archer turns to see the chatty andorian officer that escorted him to Shran’s quarters on the <em>Zletha</em> all those months ago. As soon as the man’s eyes meet Archer’s, a wide smile spreads across his face. “I thought it was you! What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Right now? Enjoying some of this delicious... whatever it is,” Archer indicates the glass in his hand before offering the officer a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name the last time we spoke.”</p><p>“Of course, my apologies.” The officer gives him an Imperial Guard salute. “I’m Ensign Karskat Elta, Captain.”</p><p>“At ease, Ensign,” Archer teases, mischief glimmering in his eyes. “Neither of us are on the deck of a starship; you might as well call me Archer.”</p><p>Ensign Elta flushes slightly, “Thank you, Cap – Archer, sir. And of course, feel free to call me Elta, obviously, I – ” He clears his throat, cutting himself off before switching to a new line of conversation. “Captain Shran will be happy to see you. He was disappointed when you weren’t part of the terran diplomatic attaché.”</p><p>“I see.” Archer firmly tells his damn heart not to skip a beat, but it does anyway. He scans the room properly for the first time since he arrived, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly when he realizes that the particular pair of blue eyes he’s looking for are nowhere to be seen. “And where is Captain Shran?”</p><p>“He had to update our superiors on the results of the conference, but he should be arriving any minute now,” Elta says this as though it’s some kind of reassurance, unaware that Archer’s shoulders are tensing once again. “Maybe that’s him now – ”</p><p>The doors to the conference room swing open yet again, and Archer turns his gaze to his glass, sipping from it as a familiar pair of antennae enter his peripheral vision.</p><p>He feels the moment that Shran’s eyes find him, aided no doubt by Elta’s enthusiastic waving, the weight of them growing with each step Shran takes towards them – towards him.</p><p>“Captain,” Elta greets, offering the same gesture he had Archer moments before to Shran, “can I get you anything – ”</p><p>“At ease,” Shran holds up a hand to stop him. “Last time I checked I had working hands and feet. Although, for a moment there I confess I had some doubts about my eyes.”</p><p>“Sounds serious,” Archer murmurs, unable to help himself from offering a small teasing smirk at Shran. “Would you like me to arrange an appointment with my ship’s physician?”</p><p>“Only if you’ll allow me to find you some clothes that aren’t made out of curtains,” Shran sniffs, raising an eyebrow at Archer’s outfit. “Where did you even find these?”</p><p>Archer chuckles. “Oh, I don’t know, I think blue’s my colour.”</p><p>“At least we agree on one thing,” Shran returns, that familiar fond look in his eyes and hell if it doesn’t make Archer <em>ache</em>, if it doesn’t make want nothing more than to reach forward and lack their hands together and never let go –  </p><p>“Ashal-veh.”</p><p>Soval’s voice startles him, but Archer manages not to jump as the Ambassador steps into place beside him. “K’diwa.”</p><p>The fond look in Shran’s eyes has been replaced with something more guarded and... confused. His eyes shift between Archer and Soval before resting on Soval as he inclines his head slightly towards him. “Captain Shran, I trust your superiors were as satisfied with the accord we reached as ours were?”</p><p>“The Imperial Guard has no complaints.” The <em>‘for now’</em> goes loudly unspoken between them all, Shran holding Soval’s gaze for a moment before returning to Archer’s. “I was just asking Captain Archer how many curtains he had to replicate to create his outfit for this evening.”</p><p>“Shran – ” Archer starts.</p><p>“None,” Soval says, his face a perfect picture of true vulcan control. “His outfit for tonight was a gift, given by me to mark the anniversary of our courtship.”</p><p>For a moment it looks as though Shran has simply frozen in place, his lips white from where he’s pressed them so tightly together before they finally move to form a single word.</p><p>“Courtship?”</p><p>“Forgive me, I believe the meaning of the term varies between our cultures.” Soval takes another step forward so that he is partially blocking Archer from view. “What I mean to say is that Jonathan and I are, for lack of a better term, engaged to one another.”</p><p>You could hear a pin drop in the room; Elta looks like he’s afraid of breathing too loud in the deafening silence that blankets them all. Archer barely manages to keep his eyes on the opposite wall, refusing to meet Shran’s gaze with his own. His chest burns with words that he nearly has to bite his tongue not to speak and his gut twists with a kind of guilt that doesn’t make sense – it’s not as if the two of them are anything more than sometimes friends to each other, so why is he –</p><p>“Now, forgive me, but there are many others with whom I still need to speak with.” Soval holds up two fingers in a gesture that Archer has seen many many times before on <em>Enterprise.</em> “Ashal-veh, attend.”</p><p>Taking a deep, quiet breath, Archer steps forward, swallowing down the searing cocktail of desecrated pride and agency that rises up within him – barely managing to keep his hands from forming fists. Instead, he raises his hand in a two-finger gesture and presses them against Soval’s.</p><p>A soft gasp ripples through the room, and Elta’s jaw hits the floor. And Shran –</p><p>Shran turns on his heel and marches out of the room.</p><p>Archer barely has time to watch him go before Soval is linking their arms again and guiding him across the room towards yet another group of diplomats determinedly looking everywhere and anywhere but them. After Soval exchanges a few sentences with their leader, the general din and jovial atmosphere of the room gradually begins to return.</p><p>Shran, however, never does.</p><hr/><p>Archer spends another two hours at Soval’s side, smiling politely as they traipse around the conference room, trying to ignore the daggers that Elta is staring into him. The ensign, and the rest of the crew from the <em>Zletha</em> present, judging by the other dirty looks that he keeps getting, seem to take his closeness with Soval as some kind of personal insult. And honestly, Archer is too tired from pretending to play second fiddle to Soval to care about why.</p><p>Eventually, he bids Soval farewell, saying something about being tired from a long journey, and he and K’vara, fingers crossed, begin to make their way to Archer’s attempted assassination.</p><p>K’vara walks ahead of him with slow, carefully measured steps, probably scanning the empty hallway for threats. Archer does the same, looking for windows or doors, entrances and escape routes – trying to figure out where and how someone would come from.   </p><p>Suddenly K’vara stops and Archer nearly bumps into him, but manages to catch himself at the last moment. “What? What is it? Do you see – ?”</p><p>“Captain Shran,” K’vara cuts Archer off before he can give away the game. “Can I offer you any assistance?”</p><p>Archer steps to the side of K’vara, allowing him to see Shran leaning up against the side of the hallway – and Archer is struck with another wave of déjà vu because Shran is in the exact same position he had been when Archer found him outside his door on Vrya Prime, only this time instead of a wall, he’s staring daggers into K’vara.</p><p>He pushes himself off of the wall, crossing over towards them. “Leave us; I need to have a word with Captain Archer in private.”<br/><br/>“I have been ordered by the Ambassador to escort the Captain to his room, I cannot abandon my duties.” K’vara inclines his head slightly. “If you will excuse us – ”</p><p>Shran lashes out in a blur of blue movement, and five seconds later, K’vara is on the ground – not moving.<br/><br/>“K’vara!” Archer lurches forward, already reaching down slightly to check the Vulcan’s vitals, only to be caught and held in place by Shran’s hand on his arm. “Shran! What the hell do you think you’re doing – ”</p><p>“Relax, he’s unconscious, not dead.” Shran holds Archer’s gaze with his own. “We need to talk.”</p><p>“Talk?” Archer looks at him incredulously. “You and I need to <em>talk </em>so badly that you <em>attacked</em> <em>someone</em>?”</p><p>“Yes.” Shran tightens his grip with Archer tries to pull away. “I know what you’re doing.”</p><p>“I doubt that.” Archer’s tone is reminiscent of the eye of a hurricane.</p><p>“You’re running.” Shran pulls the two of them closer together, eyes never leaving Archer’s. “You know as well as I do that there’s something between us – and instead of standing firm and facing it like the man I thought you were, you’re fleeing like some frail little – ”</p><p>“There’s nothing between us!” Archer shouts, wrenching his arm free from Shran, panic clawing up his insides. “I don’t know what you <em>think</em> you’ve seen, but you and I – ”</p><p>Shran reaches forward and grabs Archer, crushing their lips together in a desperate, frenzied, heated mess with a ferocity that Archer finds himself returning before he realizes it. The brush of those wonderful cool lips against his own a balm for the tattered remains of his heart and he can’t – god how much has he missed this – wanted this for so, so long – long before he even got his first taste and he –</p><p>Shran breaks the kiss first, and that’s when Archer realizes how tangled up in each other the two of them are – his hands clutching Shran so tightly that he’s half afraid he might be hurting him, with Shran returning the favour.</p><p>“Tell me again that there’s nothing here.”</p><p>Archer lets out a shuddering breath, grip on Shran flexing as all his carefully constructed walls come crashing down around him – leaving him nothing but the rubble of all his convictions. The words that he’d locked behind them crawling up his throat, desperate to fall off his lips to freedom.</p><p>And then he remembers that he has one last line of defence.</p><p>He forces his grip on Shran to relax, against every single last one of his instincts, letting his arms fall to his side. “Fine. Maybe there is something between us. It doesn’t change the fact that Soval is – ”</p><p>“<em>Soval</em>,” Shran spits the name with so much caustic acid that Archer’s surprised it manages to make it out of his mouth fully formed, “is nothing. If he were anything more than a convenient excuse, you wouldn’t allow him to cover you in curtains and order you around like some sort of – ”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Shran stares at him, suspicious, looking for the next argument that Archer is planning to throw up in his defence. But there is – Archer has – nothing left.</p><p>“Is that what you want to hear?” Archer asks him quietly, voice equal parts desperation and desolation. “I love you, Thy’lek Shran. I’ll say it as many times as you want, and it’ll mean the same thing every time – nothing.”</p><p>“Jonathan – ”</p><p>“I love you.” Archer’s hands are starting to shake. “I spend my nights and days thinking about you – whether that’s standing beside you and watching the stars pass us by, or imagining the feeling of your skin against mine, you lips, your hands – ”</p><p>Archer cuts himself off, letting out a soft, humourless laugh and giving Shran a wry smile. “But in the end, it comes down to what it always does between the two of us – not our own differences, but our cultures’.”</p><p>Shran’s brow furrows. “What are you – ”</p><p>“I know about how marriages work on Andoria.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I know it involves polyamory – and I’m not – I don’t – ” Archer takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I don’t want that. But I know you will – if not know then in the future – and I don’t – I’ve never wanted to force you to choose between your culture and me. Either way, one of us will end up hurt and I don’t – ” Archer swallows thickly, his throat raw and aching with all the words torn from it. “I don’t want that.”</p><p>If the silence back in the conference room was deafening, then this one threatens to shatter Archer’s eardrums. He closes his eyes, chest cold and empty now that everything he was holding there is finally and utterly gone, and turns to leave Shran’s hold –</p><p>Shran’s hands tighten, holding him there, and Archer sighs. “Thy’lek – ”<br/><br/>“Tell me, Jonathan,” Shran’s voice is tight, sharp, “do humans possess some sort of secret telepathic abilities? Are they more similar to vulcans than your government has led us to believe?”</p><p>“Thy’lek – ”</p><p>“No? Then tell me,” Shran’s eyes burn with a glacial fire that freezes Archer in place, “how can you claim to know what I do and will feel when you haven’t <em>talked to me about it?” </em></p><p>Archer opens his mouth, but nothing comes out because he really – he hadn’t thought about it like that. And it occurs to him that maybe in trying to protect Shran from all the situations and future scenarios he’s come up with these past few months, he hasn’t taken a moment to consider <em>Shran's </em>opinion at all. </p><p>“Of all the reasons I came up with for why you have been avoiding this – avoiding us – that you would be this – you - " Shran closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath of his own, and Archer feels a sense of shame rising steadily within him, half expecting Shran to just walk away – to leave him there, "you utter and complete fool of a man."</p><p>But then he opens his eyes, and instead of that glacial fire from before they are full of that familiar exasperated fondness that fills Archer’s chest with a soft warmth and makes his knees weak. “But then again, I’m every bit the fool you are – and I think it’s time I took my own advice.”</p><p>Shran releases his grip on Archer but doesn’t move away, moving his right hand to Archer’s face and stroking his thumb gently across his cheek. “I don’t know how this has managed to escape your notice, but as I told you before, when faced with a choice between you or anything else in this galaxy, or this universe – there is no choice. Because I have, and always will, choose <em>you</em>.”</p><p>He closes the final distance between them, pressing their lips together with all the force of a summer breeze, breathing his next words against them just as softly but with a conviction that could reduce mountains to pebbles, let alone walls.</p><p>“I love you, Jonathan Archer.”<br/><br/>And then he raises his phase pistol around Archer’s shoulder and fires.</p><p>Archer turns to see another Vulcan drop to the floor beside K’vara, stunned, his own phaser falling to the floor beside him.</p><p>“He certainly took his time.” Shran re-holsters his phaser, his hand still cupping Archer’s cheek with that same gentleness. “Though I suppose I should thank him, seeing as it gave you and I a chance to work this whole mess out.”</p><p>The pieces click into place in Archer’s mind. “You knew.”</p><p>“I guessed the broad strokes; I’ll still need you to fill me in on the details later, but as you no doubt recall, you and I have played a similar game before.” Shran tells him dryly, finally taking his hand from Archer’s face. “I commend you for being able to withstand being an I’fara for two hours – I thought you’d manage one at most.”</p><p>“So did I.” Archer rolls his shoulders, aching underneath the weight of the robe. “I can’t tell you how much I want to get out of this damn thing – ”</p><p>“I’d be more than happy to assist you with that.”</p><p>Archer pauses, heat pooling in his gut, his eyes caught by the smirk curling the Andorian’s lips that practically dares him to kiss it away – and still all the months of anxiety and doubt and aching makes his heart waver. “Did you really – ?”</p><p>“I meant every word I said, Jonathan.” Shran meets his eyes, extending his hand ever so slightly to Archer. “Did you?”</p><p>There is a choice here, a chance to take it all back, to go back in some way – even if it won’t be the same way, not ever again, a chance to say no –</p><p>Archer reaches his own hand forward, entwining his fingers with Shran’s.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Shran’s eyes meet his, and the heat pooling in his gut turns into a forest fire, and Archer is already leaning down to press their lips together again –<br/><br/>“Captain!”</p><p>Elta barely makes it ahead of the rush of footsteps and clamour of voices behind him, likely alerted by the phaser fire and now rushing down the hall towards them. A moment later, Soval and his team come into view, and Archer watches him take in the unconscious Vulcans on the floor before his eyes land on Archer and Shran and the space, or lack thereof, between them.</p><p>He raises an eyebrow as he crosses over to them. “I trust the situation is resolved?”</p><p>“You should keep a sharper eye on those you allow closest to you, Ambassador,” Shran tells him, nodding towards K’vara’s crumpled form, “I saw him reach for his phaser once he thought the two of them were alone. The other one must have been a failsafe.”</p><p>Soval takes in the two bodies, his lips curling with a distaste he can’t quite bring himself to keep under control. “Your assistance in this matter is appreciated, Captain.”   </p><p>“Perhaps next time you’ll even ask for it,” Shran says dryly, ignoring the sharp look that Archer sends his way.</p><p>“Ambassador, Captain Shran and I have something we need to discuss. If you’re all good here, would you mind if we – ?”</p><p>“Of course.” Soval raises his hand in the ta’al. “Vulcan thanks you for your assistance in this matter, Captain. I look forward to working together in the future, though perhaps not in the same exact capacity. Live long and prosper, Captain Archer.”</p><p>Archer shrugs. “I’ve had worse dates. Still, can’t say I’ll be jumping at the chance to repeat this one any time soon either.” He raises his hand in the ta’al as well. “Peace and long life, Ambassador Soval.”  </p><p>With that, he and Shran make their way away from the crowd and out of the hallway, hand in hand the whole while.</p><hr/><p><br/>The shrill beeping of his communicator wakes him up at some ungodly hour of the night, and he fumbles for it in the dark, flipping it open with a yawn.</p><p>“Archer, here.”</p><p><em>“Captain.”  </em>T’Pol’s voice comes through, and Archer feels a little bit of guilt twist his gut when he catches the faintest echo of relief in her tone. <em>“I’m am gratified to see you still possess the ability to answer your communicator. It does, however, beg the question of why you failed to make your scheduled check-in.”</em> </p><p>“Apologies, Commander,” Archer tells her ruefully, “I, uh, lost track of time.”</p><p><em>“How unfortunate.” </em> Archer can practically hear the lecture he’s about to get when he returns and tries not to think how much grovelling he’s going to have to do with her or the rest of the crew for making them worry. <em>“As I’ve ascertained your well-being, however, I thought I would inform you that I received word from Starfleet headquarters a short while ago regarding Admiral Gardner.”</em></p><p>Archer takes a deep breath. “And?”</p><p><em>“He has been dishonourably discharged from the service, and is currently awaiting court martial.”</em> If T’Pol were anything other than vulcan, Archer would say she sounds almost, smug. <em>“As I understand it, the charges against him are quite... extensive. Admiral Thompson is to assume his position effective immediately.” </em></p><p>All the remaining tension in his body leaves Archer in one long exhale, and he’s so dizzy with relief that it takes him a minute to realize that laughter he’s hearing is coming from himself.</p><p>
  <em>“Captain?” </em>
</p><p>He manages to pull himself together, but only just. “Apologies, Commander. I received your previous message. Remind me to schedule a party for the crew when I return; for reasons completely unrelated to our previous conversation, of course.”</p><p><em>“Of course,”</em> T’Pol returns smoothly. <em>“As for the party, I believe Ens. Hoshi and Commander Tucker have, to use a terran expression, beaten you to the punch. It’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Can we expect your presence?”</em></p><p>Before he can respond, a hand reaches out and snatches the communicator from him.</p><p>“He’ll be there. Now for the love of tezha, let us go back to sleep.”</p><p>Shran places the communicator back in Archer’s hand with a grumble, turning over and wrapping the blankets tighter around himself.</p><p>Archer rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Commander, and if he’s feeling slightly less tired, perhaps Captain Shran will as well.”</p><p>Shran lets out another grunt, and Archer feels an unbearable fondness swell within him, his lips twitching into a smile.</p><p>
  <em>“Understood. Enterprise will look forward to your arrival. T’Pol out.”</em>
</p><p>“Archer, out.”</p><p>He flips the communicator closed and rearranges himself so that his arms are wrapped around Shran and their bodies are tucked up against one another like they were as they fell asleep earlier. He presses a soft kiss to Shran’s shoulder, before resting his head on the pillow once more.</p><p>“Typical human,” Shran mutters, but he shifts so that the two of them fit together just that little bit better, “thinking everything can be forgiven with a kiss.”</p><p>Archer hums softly, his eyes already closed again. “Worth a try. Besides, you seemed to enjoy them earlier.”</p><p>Shran reaches a hand back, his cool fingers tracing over the marks his mouth left on Archer’s throat. “So did you. Now do us both a favour and go back to sleep.”</p><p>Archer chuckles softly, but by his third exhale Shran is already asleep again, and he tumbles over the precipice soon after to join him; the two of them laying tangled up in each other’s arms until morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Terms Used:</p><p>Ta'al - Name for the 'live long and prosper' sign<br/>ashal-veh - darling<br/>tal-kam- dear<br/>k’diwa- beloved<br/>Pastaklan Tapan - literally 'Peaceful Process'<br/>I'fara - Partner in a same-sex Vulcan arranged marriage that the priest believes will undergo pon farr last. Or at least, that's how it's supposed to work, if you're from an important and/or powerful family then you can easily influence this decision. I couldn't really find a lot of info on Vulcan same-sex partnerships (I wonder why) so I came up with this.</p><p>Also, how Soval's interacts with Archer during the conference are based on Amanda and Sarek's interactions in the TOS episode: Journey to Babel. This is why he says "ashal-veh, attend," like how Sarek says "My wife, attend."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>